


Ship ficlet and drabble requests :)!!

by ToxicPineapple



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), And nobody important dies, Angst, Arguments, Assumed Unrequited Love, Awkward Resolution, Blindfolds, Budding crush, Budding feelings, Cheek smooches :3, Childhood Friends, College AU, Comfort minus the Hurt, Confessions, Crushes, Crushing, Cuddles, Death, Detective AU, Developing Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Donuts, Drabble Compilation, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, First Kisses, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Giant Hell Ship, Gonta is an artist :3c, Hair Playing, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, I mean it's smut I don't, I'm sorry Van I had to, Implied Crush, Implied Feelings, Implied/Referenced Death, Insomnia, Introspection, It's Miu, Kittens, Kokichi is a useless gay, Kyoko is smart, LaLaLand Reference, Libraries, Love Across The Universe: Dangan Salmon Team, M/M, Major character death is one chapter, Multi, Murder, Mystery solving, NSFW, Nagito is lonely, Non-Despair AU where they're ADULTS they're ADULTS gdi, Non-binary character, Not like there's actual murder, OTP Requests, Open Relationship, Overworking, Painting, Pegging, Photography, Picnic, Platonic Relationships, Polyamorous relationship, Post-Canon, Post-Killing School Life (Dangan Ronpa), Pre-Despair, Professional relationships, Rain, Rantaro is a normie.jpg, Referenced ships within the realms of each drabble are not in the tags, Regrets, Resolution, Sad Ending, Sadness, Safe-words, Sexual References, Ship Compilation, Ship requests, Sick Character, Sickfic, Simulation AU, Sketching, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Smut, Soft Kisses, Soulmates, Stars, Strap-On, Sweet Kisses, Tennis, Video Game, anyway, awkward confessions, bittersweet end, but for THH :), developing feelings, dream - Freeform, except not for v3 characters, guitar playing, healthy relationship, implied romantic feelings, in-game, just one, lil nose smooches, mentions of abuse, my own take on how Team Danganronpa got everyone, nothing graphic, pre-game, rainy day, soft, sunrise, taste testing, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 62,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Like the title says, I'm going to be taking OTP ficlet and drabble requests in the comments section of this fic ^0^ so if there's a ship you want me to write please request it! More detailed rules will be in the notes of the first chapter but I'm willing to write any pairing aside from a few, which I will name, and any prompt, within reason!That includes fluff, angst, etc! I won't do gore, though.EDIT: As of this moment I will no longer be accepting smut requests. Sorry gang :^) more details inside if you're curious.REQUESTS ARE CLOSED. DO NOT POST ANY REQUESTS. THEY ARE CLOSED RIGHT NOW.---Latest chapter: Amaguji, Dreams





	1. Kaimaki/Momoharu, Sickfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! here are the rules for the drabble requests!
> 
> I'm willing to whatever ship or prompt you want, but here are the things I WON'T do!!
> 
> -Oumota, Oumaede, or Oumami (sorry, I just really don't like them, no shade if you like them though)  
> -Junko/Anybody  
> -Tenko or Ibuki/A man  
> -Incestuous, pedophilic, or canonically unhealthy ships. (That means Byakuya/Toko, Kiyo/Sister, Junko/Mukuro, Sonia/Kazuichi, Warriors of Hope/ LITERALLY ANYBODY THEY'RE BABIES, etc.)  
> -Gore  
> -Graphic violence  
> -Smut, as of now.  
> -Abuse......  
> -Sexual assault whether explicit or mentioned
> 
> this list is subject to change, but yeah!!! so if you're requesting a ship, just lmk if there are any headcanons I should use (I'm willing to write anything not on that list!), any specific AUs or prompts, a general vibe for the drabble in general, and that kinda thing! the less details the more likely it is I'll write something you're not expecting so >:)
> 
> if I've already written what you're requesting, hey man, go ahead and request it again, but please don't bug me to do your request. I have a life and a lot of other stories already in progress.
> 
> love y'all, please please PLEASE request!!! <33333
> 
> I'm sure you all have seen the summary but yeah I'm no longer going to be taking smut requests. I originally opened them to challenge myself because I don't mind smut at all and I thought I'd like writing it but I've reflected a bit on what I'm comfortable with and I decided that I would no longer like to write any smut. I know a couple of you just requested some nsfw things, and I'll let you know directly, and I'm sorry for the change after you've already made your request, but I want to respect my own boundaries. :^))) thanks y'all.

When her knock on the door doesn’t receive an immediate response, Maki goes ahead and grabs the doorknob, wrenching it to the side and pushing the door open. It squeaks as she does so and she rolls her eyes; this is such a terrible apartment, and she’s reminded every time she comes here, but Kaito and Shuichi already have to live together to afford the rent at this lousy place, so it’s not like she can criticise them on it. She kicks off her boots when she steps inside and uses Kaito’s spare pair of indoor slippers because she knows he doesn’t mind, reaching out to turn on the light.

“Hey,” she calls out, wrinkles her nose at the scent of the place. Boys. “I’m here.”

“Ah, Maki,” Shuichi’s voice answers her and he emerges from the kitchen, a spatula in his hand and a splash of batter across his cheek. Her lip curls up at the sight; she’s pretty sure he has no idea that it’s there. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, I’m just trying to start on the preparation for Kirumi’s birthday tomorrow, and Kaito’s suddenly come down with the flu, and I just-”

“Forget it.” Maki waves him off, walks over and drops the bag of groceries that she brought with her. He peeks inside without touching it, though there really isn’t much to see. A bag of toilet paper, some weird oddly specific brand of aftershave that Kaito apparently ran out of, chicken broth from the deli and a huge pack of saltine crackers. It didn’t cost much, but even if it did, her paycheck just came in, and she’s more than willing to spend a little extra money on the two of them, even if they are disasters. “How’d you get him to stay in bed?”

Shuichi smiles, like he’s embarrassed. “I uhm,” suddenly there’s a loud banging from down the hall. “Locked him in from the outside?”

Snorting, Maki shakes her head and starts on her way to the room. Knowing Kaito, he has everything that he needs to rest and recuperate already in there, but it’s hard to get him to stop going no matter what the circumstances are. In their first year of high school, according to Shuichi because Maki had to drop out halfway through, he came down with a really bad case of the flu and wouldn’t sit his ass down until Kaede had to physically drag him to the doctor. It’s a pretty good example of why Kaito is always getting into so much trouble. What an idiot.

Still, she finds herself smiling slightly as she pulls the chair out from under the doorknob where Shuichi likely shoved it half an hour ago while he texted her, he’s her idiot. Not that that means she doesn’t mind all his self destructive tendencies. But she can deal with it.

The door springs open with the sudden lack of resistance and Kaito stumbles out, a look of surprise on his face; Maki reaches out and catches him on instinct, startled as well but due to the fact that he’s remarkably warm, rather than the fact that he’s here. Nobody else could make that much racket- and, actually, nobody else lives in this apartment except for Kaito and Shuichi. When the idiot looks up from her chest, purple eyes wide, a grin appears on his features and she curses him for being handsome as her cheeks burn almost immediately.

“Oh, hey, Maki-Roll,” he greets brightly, and though his voice is primarily unaffected by his illness, Maki isn’t fooled. His skin is a lot paler than usual, and there are beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He’s gross, but shivering a little bit too, so she’s inclined to hold him closer rather than shove him away. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you get your flu vaccine this year?” She asks sharply, in lieu of answering his question, because it’s not important, he obviously knows why she’s here. Kaito blinks at her, his lethargy one of the biggest indicators that he’s sick, and eventually shrugs his shoulders, which is never the response one wants to receive when asking if their loved one got a flu shot.

“I mean, I was going to!” Kaito tells her, sincere as always. “I’ve been meaning to get around to it, but then I was just, y’know, busy, and-”

She sighs, helps him stand up properly and pulls one of his arms around her shoulders to guide him back into his room. “C’mon, you should be in bed.” She tells him, and he goes along with her, perhaps by nature, before stopping halfway to his bed and attempting to pull away.

“Wait, no, I can’t. I mean, Shuichi and I promised to help with Kirumi’s surprise party, I need to be out there,” he pauses halfway through, making a face like he’s making a conscious effort to keep from coughing. “Helping my bro, y’know? That’s too much stuff for one person to do, and-”

“You’ll get him sick too.” Maki cuts him off, grabs his wrist. Boy, it hurts to be dating an idiot. “And you’ll get all your germs in Kirumi’s cake if you try to help make it.” As much as Kaito and Shuichi are both pretty good cooks, Kaito  _ is  _ the better baker, but still, she doesn’t want him in the kitchen when he could contaminate Kirumi’s cake. Besides that, she obviously just wants him to be resting right now so that he doesn’t get any more sick, but angling it like he’s doing it for himself is never a good way to do things with Kaito.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises swiftly, attempting to move away again, but Maki tightens her hold on him, so he looks back. “Hey, c’mon, Maki-Roll, I-”

“-need to be asleep right now, getting better.” She cuts him off, glaring. “You don’t want to miss the actual party, right? So get better now. That’s why I’m here, to help Shuichi with the preparations.” And, also, to wrestle Kaito into bed, but that goes without saying. He looks at her for a long moment, very apparently conflicted, and finally releases a breath, nodding his head at her as he walks back over towards his bed. She doesn’t release his wrist, because she doesn’t think Kaito is cunning or manipulative enough to trick her into letting go of him before running back out to help (that sort of maneuver is Kokichi’s area of expertise, and Kaito hates to resemble the gremlin in any way, which, understandable) but it doesn’t hurt to make sure.

She walks with him over to the bed, finally lets go of his wrist to let him crawl under the sheets. As she suspected was the case, Shuichi’s brought in a surplus of things Kaito might need to make it through this- tissues, a hot pad, some tea, and several other things Maki has never seen before in her  _ life-  _ she doesn’t get sick often, what can she say- so she’s certain that he’s well provided for. Once Kaito is under the covers, she turns to go, because her work here is done, but then his hand shoots out and latches onto her wrist, so she looks back at him, raising an expectant eyebrow.

“You just got here, sit down and rest a bit. You live pretty far, huh?” Not really, a bit of a long walk but Maki has a car… at any rate she’s smart enough to recognise that that’s not the real reason Kaito wants her to hang around for a moment. They saw each other the day before, but everything was so busy that they barely got to speak at all, just enough time for him to press a light kiss to her lips before they parted. As much as she doesn’t want to catch his illness, Maki misses him too. It’s rare that they actually get a moment like this. And she should go out there to help Shuichi with the preparations, but…

He won’t blame her if she takes a moment beforehand, she assumes. So instead of leaving, Maki releases a breath and nods at her boyfriend, grabs the chair from in front of Kaito’s desk and sits down on it.

“I’ll be mad at you if you get me sick.” She tells him, and Kaito laughs at her, which is annoying because she’s being serious, but it’s hard to be angry at him when he’s smiling like that, so Maki just reaches out smooths back his purple hair, finding it a little gross from his illness but not minding it so much. When he reaches up to touch the side of her face, she indulges him for a moment before pulling away because she  _ is not about to catch the flu, no siree bub.  _ Still though, she holds his hand and smiles at him, softer than she usually allows, as he closes his eyes.

(She ends up staying by his side long after he’s fallen asleep, and when Shuichi pokes his head in to ask her to  _ please for the love of god help him he’s drowning in tasks  _ he sees them and decides to just call Kiyo and ask his boyfriend for help instead because they’re too sweet like that, and he’d rather not lose his life by disturbing Maki when she’s at peace. A wise decision, all in all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one for myself sorry


	2. Komahina, Post-Canon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was requested by sunflower_8. an excellent writer and also a sweetheart who comments on all my works.... thank u it is much appreciated

Nagito wiggles his toes, watching white grains of sand slide in between them. His shoes and socks are several meters back, far enough away from the water that he’s not worried about them getting wet, but he’s not thinking about them. The sand on the beach is warm. It makes sense; it’s been under the sun without any rest for weeks, after all, but it’s one thing to be aware of it, and another to actually experience it. Especially underneath a pair of bare feet.

He’d go further, into the water, but that sounds cold and unpleasant and his pants are too long to avoid getting wet. Ordinarily that wouldn’t bother him but it’s different when it’s salt water. His pants will smell nasty as hell if he just plows forward into the water. Better to cherish the quiet moment, one of the rare ones. Safe from Kazuichi’s ramblings, Akane’s shouting. He loves all of his friends, but it’s nice to be alone like this.

With that thought in mind, Nagito drops back to sit in the sand, tilting back his head and looking up at the sky. It’s different than in the simulation, he muses, though not by much. A clear, crystal blue, interrupted only by cotton ball clouds which dance around the sun as though afraid of being burned. (Ha, ha.) As much as looking into the sun is painful, especially with eyes as pale as his are, there’s something relaxing about having his face tilted up to absorb the warm rays. He’ll inevitably end up burnt after this- one thing that the simulation  _ did  _ leave out was sunburn, apparently- because he’s not wearing any sun screen, but oh well. Mikan will probably forgive him.

“There you are,” Hajime’s tenor drifts down to Nagito’s ears and he turns his head slightly, brows raising on instinct. Hajime’s incredulity is perhaps to be expected; Nagito didn’t exactly tell anyone he was heading down to the beach, but it’s not like the islands are very big, and there are only so many places he’d go. They know, he’s certain they do, that he’d never not answer the door if they knocked, and from his cottage it would be easy to narrow down all the possible places he might’ve headed. (Another culture shock, being out of the simulation; having no student handbooks to track each other’s locations at all times.) Thus he doesn’t exactly feel bad about not speaking up beforehand. Still, his smile is apologetic.

“Someone looking for me?” He asks casually, and keeps any self deprecative remarks to himself (see, he’s learning!) because he knows that Hajime doesn’t like them. Nobody does, actually, but Hajime especially.

“Me,” Hajime volunteers the information rather bluntly, drops to sit down next to Nagito rather than asking he go anywhere. (The former lucky student smiles wider.) The other man’s hair is messy, perhaps from the slight breeze this morning, and his heterochromatic eyes are tired, but also lazily smiling, even when Hajime’s lips aren’t, necessarily. He doesn’t look upset, or anything, which is always good news to Nagito, who is inclined to dislike it when his loved ones are upset. “Teruteru made lunch, you hungry?”

“No,” Nagito shakes his head, and Hajime nods in response, accepting the answer at face value. It’s a gesture he appreciates, one that is foreign to them, almost, but they’re working on it. And they’ve been talking about it, too. Since Makoto Naegi brought a friend around who loaded Chiaki’s AI onto a computer, they’ve been asking her how to proceed, with their relationship as much as with other things, and that has been one of her pieces of advice. Reducing the pressure on each other. And there’s quite a bit of it, they both know. That’s perhaps why something so small is something that can be so greatly appreciated.

“When’d you wake up? I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.” The remark is casual, though Nagito understands that Hajime means a bit more by it than what he says, and as a result the white-haired man finds himself contemplating a more thoughtful way to respond.

“A couple hours ago, maybe. I woke up later than you all, sorry about that.” At this he smiles wryly, catches the wary look Hajime shoots in his direction and speaks anyway. “I think I’m pretty bad at waking up without the morning announcement to get me out of bed early in the morning.”   
  


It’s a lie; they both know it. There are other reasons why Nagito sleeps in later, other reasons that they don’t really need to talk about. Hajime doesn’t call his bluff, instead he smiles too, reaches out to touch the back of Nagito’s hand, intertwine their fingers in a backwards way. (That’s new, Nagito thinks, but he closes his fingers over Hajime’s regardless.) “Have you eaten?”

“Nope.” Nagito pops the p, looks away. He wonders idly if Hajime’s going to change his mind, ask him to go to the restaurant and brave everyone’s attention to grab a bite. Skipping meals is unhealthy, that much has been established already. It’s never been enough to stop Nagito, though. Warnings of detriment are seldom enough to stop Nagito.

Hajime reaches into the pocket of his jacket, an obnoxious brightly coloured thing he got at the store on this island, and pulls out a couple energy drinks. He drops one between his own legs, which at this point he’s crossed, and holds out the other for Nagito. “I mean, it’s not really sustenance,” Hajime explains quickly, averting his gaze. “But it’ll probably make your body happier anyway.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, one that Nagito usually tries to avoid, but doesn’t, this time, because he’d rather look at the energy drink with his brows knitted together. Things aren’t always like this, with them. Usually they argue, or something lurks beneath the surface. Resentment for causing Chiaki’s death in the simulation, guilt for all the ugly words Nagito threw in Hajime’s direction, fear on either side of the spectrum, for both of them, for everything. But not right now, right now it’s different, and it’s not a  _ bad  _ different, but the change is jarring nonetheless.

Though, Nagito isn’t averse to change. Not at all, actually, he’s experienced so much of it… it would be strange for him, a life without change. It’s given him a lot of contempt, in recent years, but he’s not actively against it… still, even still, this isn’t a bad change, this is a good change, one where Hajime is respecting his boundaries and holding his hand. And it goes both ways, it obviously does, Nagito can’t just let it be one-sided because that isn’t  _ fair,  _ but he can still feel the change, anyway.

“Thank you,” he clears his throat, feels the second word catch on the way out, and almost says something about how Hajime is doing that for garbage like him, but he doesn’t, because as much as he really doesn’t trust he’s not garbage, he trusts Hajime’s judgement, and he knows that Hajime wouldn’t do this if he thought Nagito was trash. With that in mind he takes the energy drink, attempts to open it one-handed, then has to pull his right hand away from Hajime in order to open the damn thing. “Mango flavoured?” He questions, to divert from the way that his face burns as he finally gets it opened.

  
“Yeah, I mean, it was that or coconut,” Hajime shrugs. “And this’ll probably pale in comparison to the ones in the trees- have you ever drank straight from a coconut?”

Flatly, Nagito says, “I’ve been living on Jabberwock Island for almost three years, and you’re asking if I’ve ever drank straight from a coconut?” Hajime flutters unfairly thick eyelashes in his direction and Nagito starts to laugh, which is stupid because he just opened a drink and it’s kind of spilling and also that’ll only make Hajime continue, but he really can’t help it. He’s happy, that’s all. “To answer your question,” he continues, trying to use his hand to absorb the spill from his pants. “Yes, I have, thank you.”

  
“I picked up that much from context clues,” Hajime pouts, but almost immediately grabs Nagito’s drink and steals a gulp from it.

“Hey! You have your own lying right there!” Nagito protests, grabbing for it, but Hajime holds it away, laughing, and then Nagito’s laughing again too, and the drink is getting  _ everywhere,  _ and this beach is pretty much just mango flavoured, now. Finally he manages to wrestle his poor drink out of Hajime’s hand and take a swig from it, and really it’s average, but he’s laughing too hard to care. In the mess of it he ended up practically on top of Hajime, and when he looks up the other man has stopped laughing, but he’s smiling softly, and that’s okay too.

Really Nagito should move, because they have boundaries, for fuck’s sake, but one of Hajime’s hands falls to rest on the small of his back and it’s not a bad position, all things considered. They’re both sticky from the goddamn drink and there’s definitely sand all over their clothes, but the dopamine from the laughter is running high.

“You can have this one,” Hajime offers, grabbing the other energy drink from beneath his knees. “That thing wasn’t actually that good anyway, and now it’s all over the place.”

“Uh-huh, okay.” Nagito makes a face at him. “I’m not going to trust that you didn’t bring that thing here just to steal it from me.”

“Shhh, trade secret,” Hajime quips, which makes Nagito start laughing again, and at this point they’re too far gone to focus on anything else. (It’s nice, though, Nagito likes it. He likes this. Something’s changed, and he’s really happy it did.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my fondness for Komahina enlarged like seven times writing this piece. nice
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoyed!!! don't forget to request lmao asjbdfkhdsbfa


	3. Saigonta, Shuichi gotta fucking SNEEZE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ajksdfabsdfhasdf SORRY ABOUT THE CHAPTER TITLE I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO MAKE IT
> 
> anyway this one was requested by mddnapstablook, hope I did your boys justice even though this one was awfully silly <33

_ Oh no,  _ Shuichi thinks.  _ I need to sneeze. _

And it is an oh no, it’s a really big oh no. It’s not like he has an aversion to sneezing, or anything weird like that- actually, what he really doesn’t like is when he thinks he’s going to sneeze but then he doesn’t, because he missed his chance or whatever. He and Kaede have pretty much agreed that it’s the worst feeling ever and experiencing it isn’t something that he’s proud to do. That’s not relevant, right now, though- the reason why the fact he has to sneeze is such an oh no is because he needs to stay still.

His grey eyes shift from where they’ve been focused on the wall for the past half hour to look at Gonta, who is still busily sketching away. When his boyfriend asked to draw him this morning, Shuichi thought it sounded like a pretty nice idea. (Well, really he thought,  _ this is an odd alternative to breakfast in bed,  _ but eh, beggars can’t be choosers.) It’s a little known fact among their group of friends that Gonta is a remarkable artist, and after staying with him for the past couple days, he figured it was only a matter of time before the topic came up in conversation.

They’ve talked about it before, of course, the fact that Gonta can draw. Usually, though, the entomologist has been modest about it, saying things like,  _ oh, no, Gonta isn’t that good, everyone always exaggerates,  _ but that’s just because he’s a gentleman, and also has really terrible self-deprecating tendencies. Shuichi is not by any means in the position to judge him in that area but still, Gonta is insanely talented and he should say it.

Still, it’s something they’ve been able to reach a consensus on at least, that Gonta  _ likes  _ to draw. That much can’t be argued with. Generally Gonta draws bugs, which makes sense, seeing as he’s, y’know, an entomologist and all. But he’d like to get better at drawing people, because drawing is something that makes him happy. A much more productive mindset, Shuichi thinks fondly; it’s something that Gonta is particularly good at, after all. That’s usually where they leave the conversation, because there isn’t really much else to say most times, but the day before Gonta seemed quiet, pensive, and Shuichi had been unable to ask what was really going on- then, this morning, almost as soon as Shuichi finally crawled out of bed, the request was made.

So, something that had been eating at the entomologist for a while. Shuichi is flattered, actually, though he’s not sure how good of a model he is, but he’s been trying his best to stay still. Offhandedly, before he began sketching, Gonta remarked that he draws a lot of insects and as such is used to drawing moving targets so really it’s alright if Shuichi shifts or something, but his anxiety told him that if he so much as shifts the position of his left foot on the stool he will absolutely perished.

And obviously he’s more inclined to believe his boyfriend, a real, tangible, and trustworthy person who he is, in fact, currently in love with, than a non-physical entity inside of his head that is essentially the manifestation of all his pointless concerns, but that’s a lot easier said than done. So for the past half hour, despite the fact that several previously forgotten itchy spots all over his body have been making themselves rather obtrusive the whole time, he’s barely moved an inch. It’s different with sneezing, though. Which brings everything back to the main problem: Shuichi has to sneeze.

Maybe he’ll be lucky, and it’ll be a fakeout sneeze, but he can usually determine before hand if it’s going to be one, and it’s persisted long enough that he sincerely doubts it. Kaito has, in the past, boasted the ability to make sneezes go away, but Shuichi is pretty sure that’s not a thing, and even if it is, he can’t do it, anyway, so it doesn’t make a difference. He’s going to sneeze, whether he likes it or not.

The logical thing to do in this scenario would be to just tell Gonta, but when he looks at his boyfriend again, takes in the focused red eyes and the adorable pull of his lower lip between his teeth as he concentrates, Shuichi finds himself reluctant to interrupt. He should, obviously, because then at least the entomologist will be ready, but he just can’t bring himself to open his mouth. It feels rude to interrupt with something like this, even though it’s literally a bodily function that he has no way of controlling. (Try saying that to his anxiety.) There is a zero percent chance that Gonta will be upset about this in any way but it’s a minor inconvenience and really isn’t that a great metaphor for Shuichi’s life?

In other words, this sucks, and all he can do is wait until it inevitably comes and he sneezes.

Gonta catches him looking, leans away from the easel and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, smiling slightly. It’s such a sweet expression it kind of distracts Shuichi from his suffering, watching his boyfriend tuck loose strands of green hair behind his ears before those red eyes flit over to meet his.

“How are you doing?” Gonta asks politely, putting down his pencil. “Gonta is finished with the initial sketch, so if you need to drink some water, or…” he’s too polite to say use the bathroom, bless his soul. Thank goodness, though, because Shuichi still really needs to-

Wait, is it-

No.  _ No.  _ That’s not possible, that’s not  _ fair.  _ Life can’t just do that to him, that’s mean! He really sat for five whole minutes in fearful anticipation of the sneeze and it has the audacity to recede? Really? That’s unbelievable, he can’t even fathom the  _ nerve  _ it would take to pull such a stunt. Classic sneeze behaviour, Shuichi can’t believe this. Utterly unacceptable.  _ Does that sneeze know who his father is? _ He-

“Uh,” Gonta sounds so, so confused, poor man. “Are- are you okay?”

“A-Ah, yes, I’m fine,” Shuichi brushes the thoughts to the side, forces down the irritation and smiles instead, because of course Gonta has no way of knowing the indignities he’s just suffered. “I’ll go grab a drink of water, I-”

And then,  _ and then,  _ because there is apparently no sense of justice in this godforsaken world Shuichi is living in, he sneezes. He doesn’t just sneeze, it’s not just  _ any  _ sneeze, it is a powerful sneeze. It is a sneeze that screams  _ you disrespected me, this is what you get.  _ The sheer force of it makes Shuichi’s head spin, and he actually falls off the stool, covering his nose and mouth with his elbow for fear of spewing mucus and saliva all over Gonta’s apartment. (Thankfully, there is no physical evidence of the atrocious thing, except for the fact that he’s now on the floor and the stool has fallen over with the impact of that sneeze.)

“Shuichi!” Gonta is alarmed, which really feels like an overreaction to what just happened, but Shuichi is in no way in a position to talk, considering the fact that less than a minute ago he was cursing all the higher beings in existence for doing him like this. (Now look where he is.) The entomologist rushes over, offers a hand for Shuichi to pull himself to his feet with. His grip is strong, and he is steady, even despite his confusion, which is greatly appreciated in these trying times.

“I’m alright,” Shuichi promises, and hopes that there aren’t any more sneezes on the way. He doesn’t think he could handle that, to be completely honest. “I just-” he shakes his head, pretty sure that even if he explained it, Gonta would just be more confused. Not due to a lack of intelligence, or anything, but just because Shuichi himself is having a difficult time wrapping his head around it. “Come with me to get some water?” He asks, smiles slightly, and watches his boyfriend return the expression without a second thought, nodding.

“Of course! Gonta will get it for you!” He says cheerfully, and really that’s not necessary, and Shuichi intends to say so, but he honestly likes it when Gonta does those things for him. It makes him feel important. And after the turmoil he went through for the past several minutes, he thinks he deserves to feel that way. So he holds onto Gonta’s hand until the entomologist has to pull it away to pour him a glass of water.

Right before he grabs the glass, he sneezes again, and wonders if maybe he’s coming down with something. Or maybe he’s just cursed. Gonta’s smile is sympathetic, though, and it’s almost enough to distract him from his suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have you know I happen to find myself very funny.
> 
> (don't forget to request! :3)


	4. Oumasai/Saiouma, Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was requested by OumaSaiFan, I hope they're able to see I've done the request haha... I'll let them know via their comment but :^))
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this!

“You had absolutely no business calling me a useless lesbian last week.” Tsumugi fumes, and Kokichi looks around, hoping that nobody can hear her, because the dining hall is full of not only their classmates but their upperclassmen as well, and she’s being awfully loud for somebody so plain. (She’s not really plain, though, it’s just hard to think of her without the word at least popping in his head because she says it every other week.) “You’re exactly the same!”

If this conversation is going where he thinks it’s going, he really doesn’t want it to continue. “Oh?” Kokichi raises a lazy eyebrow, thanks God and also Jesus that their table is empty, aside from Rantaro, who is definitely doing that dumb spacing out thing he does where he maybe hears the current conversation but more likely is revisiting some place he traveled to on accident inside his brain. Why are all of Kokichi’s classmates such goddamn cryptids? “How so?” He, of course, knows exactly what the cosplayer is talking about, and when her glare sharpens, he swallows hard, but keeps the bored expression on his face because maybe she’ll drop it if he plays disinterested well enough.

“Obviously, I’m talking about-” Tsumugi breaks off, blinks. “Ow, Ouma, what the heck?” She yanks her arm away, looking indignant, and Kokichi grins, because pinching is always an effective strategy for shutting up his friends. (Especially the ones who are about to divulge his deepest darkest secrets.) “You announced my crush on Kaede to the whole class last week, I think it’s only fair.”

“I did it when Akamatsu was out of the room,” he offers with a shrug, as if that’s a fucking excuse. “I even chose a time when Momota was gone too, since you know he’d totally tell her.” Of course, that doesn’t account for the fact that Kaede obviously found out, but Kokichi has never been the type to tell the full story. He’s a liar, after all! He can’t help grinning at the way that Tsumugi groans, pinching the bridge of her nose and knocking her glasses askew. She’s a fun friend, anyway, the way she doesn’t always respond normally to his jokes and lies. It makes her more interesting. Still, though, she’s got a keen eye, and it sucks. Especially right now. “Besides, you’re dating now, aren’t you? It worked out!”

“You’re a jerk,” Tsumugi reminds him, then smiles deviously. “But isn’t that rationale all the more reason for me to expose your crush on Sai-”

“SHHH!” Kokichi flails a little, reaches out to shove his index finger against her mouth in the hopes of silencing her. Tsumugi, of course, is used to this behaviour and has no qualms about licking him. (Touche, but still nasty.) As he wipes off his finger on her coat, he continues speaking. “That was  _ different.  _ When I exposed you, I knew for a fact that Akamatsu returned your feelings. This is a different situation, for a number of reasons, mostly because I’m an evil leader and if you expose me I’ll kill your family,” Tsumugi rolls her eyes. “But also because there’s no way these feelings are reciprocated.”   
  


At that, Tsumugi frowns, which isn’t an uncommon expression on her, as she’s rather empathetic, but it’s still yucky. “Not with that mindset,” she chastises, pouting. “Besides, you don’t know he doesn’t feel the same way! You haven’t asked.”

“Yeah,” Kokichi snorts. “Because I don’t want the assassin to kill me, dummy!”

“I regret sharing that fanfiction idea with you, Harukawa is a child caregiver, and that’s all, you shouldn’t treat my headcanons like they’re reality-”

“Whatever. The point is, Harukawa would shoot me before I got within five feet of him on a normal day.” Kokichi rolls his eyes. “To confess that I have a dumb, stupid crush on him? She’d definitely put my head on the wall as a trophy! I have foreign nations to conquer, Shirogane, I can’t afford for that to happen!” Crocodile tears spring to his eyes and Tsumugi scoffs, so he blinks them away, because even though it’s boring that she sees through his antics, it’s kind of not boring in a way too. “Plus, y’know,” he clears his throat. “It would suck to find out I’m right.”   
  


“Win his heart, then!” Tsumugi nudges his shoulder, and Kokichi raises one eyebrow, which isn’t easy to do and he prefers to save the expression for lies that he absolutely  _ has  _ to pull off but she deserves it. “Just make him fall for you, you know?”

“This isn’t one of your fanfictions,” Kokichi reminds her flatly. “What am I supposed to do, fill his foot locker with flowers?”

Despite the jab, Tsumugi barely blinks, instead tapping her chin in thought. Which is absolutely not the kind of response Kokichi is looking for, because it was a rhetorical question, but he finds himself unable to muster the energy to cut her off when she speaks again. “Well, you don’t have to be that cliche, though there is something nice about the classics. Maybe just do something you wouldn’t usually. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture, at least!”

“Thanks for the advice, Miss Newly-Wed,” the supreme leader sighs, putting a hand on his forehead. “Since you’re clearly an expert on romance.”

“I mean, she’s dating Kaede,” Rantaro and his stupid apparently-listening face offer unhelpfully. “So she deserves at least some kudos for that.”   
  


“Okay, she had a lot of help in that area from a lot of people, but I’m not even going to begin with that one- didn’t you literally also date Akamatsu?”

“Yeah, but she dumped me,” Rantaro shrugs. “Because I’m emotionally constipated.”   
  


“Haha, Kaede would say that, huh?” Tsumugi’s tone has turned dreamy, and  _ ew,  _ so Kokichi tunes out of the conversation, rolling his eyes. Stupid people with their stupid, mushy, vanilla romances. There’s nothing appealing about that stuff, really! He wouldn’t have wasted his extremely-valuable time helping them get together had he known he’d have to put up with this stuff. It really sucks that Tsumugi noticed him dying when Shuichi brushed his arm in the hallway this morning, he’d really rather let that particular secret die inside of him with all the rest of them.

But as much as she’s annoying her words hold a lot of weight, and Kokichi tries really really hard to ignore them, but as tends to be the case with things you try to ignore, they just end up even more prominent in his head for the rest of the day. Having to sit next to Shuichi in a spot that he stupidly, stupidly chose at the beginning of the year doesn’t help in the slightest, so when Chisa calls a break he just dips on the rest of the school day and heads to his lab, because people don’t usually like hanging out down there, and it’s a place where he can be alone.

He skips out on the throne because it’s actually super uncomfortable (though admittedly perfect for a supreme leader like him) and climbs up into the car instead, kicking his legs over the side and resting his head on the steering wheel. It’s not a real car, so lame, but the seats are comfortable enough for him to spend some time sitting there while he tries to tell his brain that no, no, confessing to Shuichi is in fact out of the question.

Not because he thinks Shuichi will be mean about it, or anything. Actually, he knows that there’s no way the detective would be anything but kind, even if he doesn’t return Kokichi’s feelings. That’s not really the problem. If Kokichi is being honest with himself, and he tries to be- keeping it one hundred, you know how it be- it’s a matter of pride more than it is anything else.

Shuichi accepting his feelings is a something he’s already ruled out, because he’s pretty sure there’s absolutely no way that could be the case. Sometimes he thinks maybe there’s a chance of it (the detective certainly spends more time with him than the majority of their classmates, aside from Kiibo, Tsumugi, and Rantaro) but the part of him that doesn’t want that to be the case overrules any other parts of him fairly quickly. Because no, there’s just no way. Shuichi is obviously more interested in other people, in fact almost anybody else in their class would be a good alternative to him.

Because Kokichi is certain he’s a great catch, but he’s also a liar, and Shuichi doesn’t like liars, it’s easy for anyone to tell. Tsumugi’s commented on more than one occasion that they make good thematic opposites, but in reality that’s a terrible way to judge whether or not two people are  _ compatible.  _ That doesn’t stop Kokichi’s feelings from forming, but realistically he knows the odds are slim of someone with such strong morals as Shuichi’s falling for a guy like him, who lies every other breath. It’s not like he’s complaining about it, again, that’s not the problem. It’s just that if he lowers himself down to everyone else’s level, lets himself be vulnerable, only to get rejected- that’d really suck.

Kokichi is generally adverse to being vulnerable. That’s pretty obvious, and he’s not stupid enough to try to deny it. Besides, it’s something he’s proud of, if anything. But that comes with another thing he has to confront, and that’s the fact that he can’t stand the idea of somebody seeing past his facade. Or, rather, somebody seeing past the front he puts up and being repulsed by what’s underneath. Not that there’s a good way to judge that kind of thing; Kokichi has faith in his classmates, he’s certain they’ll be accepting, but even he doesn’t know what kind of person he is minus the lying, so how would he be able to judge what kind of reactions his classmates will have if he shows them that person?   
  


The answer is simple: he isn’t able to judge it. And the things that Kokichi can’t calculate are the things that he typically doesn’t like. Confession to Shuichi would be taking a gamble and he just doesn’t have the hand for it. Technically speaking, he doesn’t even know what his own hand looks like- much less Shuichi’s, and there aren’t very many ways to bluff his way out of it once he’s already gone all in. Better to just die inside when Shuichi inevitably starts dating someone else, that’s the safer route, albeit more painful in the long ru-

“Ouma?” Fuck. Fuck! Shit. Really? No way. Kokichi seriously needs to invest in a lock, why does Angie get a lock and not him? That’s favouritism, no, it’s orphan discrimination, he’s gonna have to call the second in command of DICE and ask her to steal all the lightbulbs again, this is unnacceptable- “What are you doing in here?”

Opening his mouth to respond, Kokichi falls out of the car and instead curses loudly, hating everyone and also everything. “Falling, apparently,” he groans, pushing himself up and nursing his elbow. (He doesn’t look up but quickened footsteps tell him that Shuichi has walked over, and he’s probably looking at him in that concerned way he did when Kokichi accidentally intentionally stabbed himself. Yike.) “I could ask you the same question, isn’t Saihara too much of a goodie goodie to skip class?”

Shuichi blushes, which is cute, but Kokichi is in two different kinds of pain right now and he doesn’t care to be thinking about anything other than the fact that he pities himself. “Ah, I’m out on a bathroom pass,” the detective admits, running a hand through his hair. He probably reached up there to pull his hat over his eyes, but he’s not wearing his hat today. It’s a nice look for him; his grey eyes, in the dimmer lighting, are somehow more green than usual, and they’re pretty. “I was wondering where you went?”

“Nishishi, I’ll accept that. But how’d you find me? You know, as a supreme leader, I have a +5 bonus to stealth.” Kokichi jokes, and Shuichi gives him a crooked smile, which is really the only hint that he’s about to say something playful, but Kokichi overlooks it in favour of screaming on the inside.

“Natural twenty intuition check?” The detective offers, and Kokichi snorts, but waits for him to give a real answer, which he knows is coming because Shuichi is actually a decent person and he tends to do that- give real answers, that is. “I guessed, I didn’t think it was likely that you’d go to your room, but I was going to check anyway after I checked here.” Shuichi shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aww, Saihara knows me so well!” Kokichi praises, then pulls himself to his feet, deciding that his elbow, while it hurts, isn’t bad enough to warrant being a baby about it. He lowers his arm to his side. “It’s like you read the instruction manual I gave to you when we met, or something! I’m so flattered you took the time to translate it from Wing Dings!”

“Uhm, so,” Shuichi seems to be eager to ignore the lie, which, valid. “May I ask why you dipped? The day is over in a couple hours, there really isn’t much of a reason to.”   
  


“School is boring,” it’s true, but not the reason why Kokichi left class. At any rate, it’s believable enough that Shuichi will probably accept it. “So I left. Didn’t feel like learning stuff today, y’know? I’d rather call up the Prime Minister and ask about that ransom money he owes me.”   
  


The detective gives him a look, the look he gives whenever he’s fairly certain Kokichi is lying but he has no real way to ascertain, and the leader just smiles, daring him to call his bluff. It’s a manipulation tactic, on his part, and he’s not naive enough to shy away from the fact. He told a small lie to hide from the real reason why he skipped out on class, but it’ll be overshadowed by the more audacious lie he just told, and usually people will focus on that one instead. Of course, Shuichi is perceptive, and can probably pick up on those types of things (it is, admittedly, part of the reason Kokichi likes him) but that’s no matter. Hopefully he’ll read between the lines and realise Kokichi isn’t willing to talk about it.

“Alright… are there any notes you’d like me to get for you?” Shuichi asks awkwardly and  _ aw,  _ that’s such a sweet offer, but Kokichi never does his homework anyway so he’s not sure where it’s coming from.

“I appreciate it, beloved, but I’ve already got several of my minions hidden in the classroom and doing it for me!” Kokichi sings, and Shuichi sighs. It’s business as usual for them, pretty much, and Kokichi’s fine with it, he really is, just- when the detective tells him he’ll see him at dinner, turns and starts walking away, it doesn’t really feel fine, not at all. And that’s something he’s used to as well, not being fine with things, but for some reason he doesn’t want it to stay that way. It doesn’t fit quite right, and Tsumugi’s dumb advice from earlier is still stuck in his brain.

All that aside he’s definitely nuts for stepping forward and latching onto Shuichi’s arm like some kind of gremlin or something. Shuichi’s a good student, he doesn’t skip class so he’ll probably want to get back to it. Besides, even if he was skipping, he probably wouldn’t want to spend his time with Kokichi, of all people, because Kokichi is annoying, and tiresome, and all sorts of other unpleasant things. Still, now that he’s done it, either he can back out of it with a dumb lie or say something else, something that his gut wants him to say, and honestly? Either option sucks. Still, he keeps thinking back to what Tsumugi said, about doing something he wouldn’t usually.

Maybe just be honest? “Hey, hey,” Kokichi doesn’t remove his hand from Shuichi’s arm, but he moves away a little so that Shuichi can pull away entirely if he feels uncomfortable. (Worth noting: he doesn’t, he just turns around, a bit startled.) “You should- I dunno, spend some time with me down here, or something.” He looks away, because he sounds  _ stupid,  _ like some datable character in a romantic visual novel, or something, and that’s just really not his vibe.

“H-Huh?” Kokichi looks back over, sees that Shuichi’s eyes are wide and his lips are kinda parted but most important he’s blushing, like, his face is actually turning red, and holy shit, that’s a good sign, isn’t it? Like, a really good sign? But, as much as Kokichi feels inclined to tease, he doesn’t, because that would probably defeat the purpose of all of this. So instead he just squeezes Shuichi’s arm before letting go, pulling away.

“I wanna- I mean, I don’t wanna corrupt you and your pure soul, obviously,” Kokichi snorts despite himself. “So if you don’t wanna skip class that’s fine but I- want to- spend time with you.” Damn! Communicating how he’s feeling is hard, how does everyone else do this? This is such a simple request and he’s already dying. Kokichi can’t even imagine how people like Kaede and Kaito manage to be so upfront about how they’re feeling. This really blows, man.

Shuichi blinks, his stupid long eyelashes amazingly distracting now of all times, and then smiles shyly, fiddling with the top button on his jacket. “I mean,” he begins, then clears his throat. “It’s only a couple hours, I wouldn’t mind spending some time with you, Ouma.” Then, tentatively, the detective reaches out, and with an agonisingly light touch tucks a few strands of hair behind Kokichi’s ear.

Basically, Kokichi dies, and he’s one hundred percent certain the last thing Shuichi sees of him beforehand is his face turning firetruck red. That’s how it feels, at least, with how hot everything suddenly feels around there. Especially in the place where Shuichi touched the side of his face- it’s pretty much on fire. It’s one thing if Kokichi is initiating the contact. This is a whole different playing field and the detective just scored like fifty points. “Okay.” Kokichi manages, and it comes out as a squeak, and honestly, kill him, just kill him, but Shuichi smiles, and it’s far more pretty than it has any business being, and wow it’s kind of worth it, actually.

So Tsumugi was right, essentially, and Kokichi is going to hate her forever for being right, but he doesn’t hate her in the sense that it’s her fault that this happened. As much as her teasing is going to send him to an early death this pretty much worth it, if it means there’s a chance Shuichi might return his feelings.

It’s surprising, really. A little honesty goes a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kokichi is such a useless gay lol adfbadsfblk
> 
> sorry it's not as fluffy as it was gonna be, I got kinda wrapped up in the introspection again, I hope that's not a problem qwq
> 
> my characters think a lot, what can I say?


	5. Amaguji, Post-Game Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one was requested by Seraf.
> 
> I found your Tumblr lmao adjsbfajkbdsf on accident by scrolling through posts and crying but I digress you post a lot it's pretty excellent. y'all Kiyo stans are the type of people I strive to be tbh. I had fun writing this, hope you enjoy!
> 
> also y'all go check out his content it's such comfort reading for me and he's a SUPER talented writer, much love and appreciation.

Rantaro’s been out of the simulation longer than anyone else, so staying in the hospital at this point feels more an empty gesture than anything he really needs to do.

Still, he does. Not because he’s injured- it was a simulation,  _ nobody  _ was really injured aside from the obvious malnourishment from lying down for weeks without real food or water- and not even because he particularly needs the therapy. But because it would be difficult to just leave. There is of course the fact that he has strange memories warring for dominance in his head, ideas of a world where words like “Ultimate” and “hope” were thrown around arbitrarily clashing in an ugly way with reality, which Rantaro knows to be dull at times but bittersweet too, in a way that he couldn’t quite fathom within the realm of the simulation.

Being, of course, a real person, has left him disoriented in the best of times and dizzy in the worst, but he was only in that particular simulation for a few days. Nothing like what people like Shuichi and Himiko had to deal with… though, considering the fact that that wasn’t Rantaro’s first simulation, it was understandably difficult for him to get accustomed to being tangible again. Not that he was particularly intangible in the simulation, at least in a way that he could comprehend, but it’s one thing to imagine oneself taking a step; another to actually do so.

But there’s another reason why he’s hanging around. It’s difficult to get up and ask to be discharged when all he has to do is peek into Kokichi or Ryoma’s rooms to see that they’re not recovering nearly as effectively as he is. The pain in the simulation was fake, of course, just figments of their imagination, but it didn’t feel like that in the moment. Rantaro was mercifully killed immediately, in a way that left him feeling nothing but surprise as he bent down to pick up the shot-put ball that rolled into his left foot. People like Kokichi weren’t so lucky.

His primary concern, in general, isn’t Kokichi, though. Plenty of people are concerned with the purple haired boy- it’s not that Rantaro would ever allow something like that to discourage him from getting close to somebody; he finds it to be an immature mindset, and if he saw the world in that way that he would be spending the majority of his time avoiding Kaede and Shuichi, which he certainly doesn’t do, but his biggest reason for staying in the hospital… isn’t the former supreme leader, to put it simply.

He knocks thrice on Korekiyo’s hospital room, knowing that the boy inside will probably be able to pick up on the fact that it’s him by the familiar number. Likely as it is that knocking three times is a common thing among Rantaros and nurses alike, they’ve fallen into a routine, of sorts, so he’s sure that Korekiyo’s been expecting him. Anyway, even if he’s not expected, the former anthropologist will know it’s him soon enough.

People have been avoiding Korekiyo since the police arrived at the Team Danganronpa headquarters to bust them out of there. (There are a number of details Rantaro didn’t care to receive about the whole thing but it wasn’t consensual, their being participants in the game, and he learned as much by simply sitting down to talk with Maki for a few moments. What Team Danganronpa did was certainly against the law, and the public thought it was all just paid actors and special effects, but upon discovering the reality of the situation… regardless, the police were there before Shuichi, Maki, and Himiko were even awake and out of the simulation.)   
  


It’s not really their fault, Rantaro rationalises, though admittedly he only does it to keep from getting angry at them for it. It’s hard to differentiate between what was real and what was fake and while Korekiyo’s background as a  _ serial killer  _ was fake, his actions were not, and that’s hard to cope with. Other killers, Kirumi and Gonta among them, are more sympathetic, but many of Rantaro’s classmates (he uses the term for lack of a better one; they were never classmates, never would have been and likely never will be at this point) have confessed that they find Korekiyo creepy, or are unable to cope with the fact that he killed not one but two of their friends.

And sure, that’s fair, he saw that trial from a small television in the room Team Danganronpa gave him after he woke up- he was not permitted to leave- so he couldn’t grasp the extent of it, but he would’ve been perturbed as well had he been in their shoes. With the knowledge it wasn’t real, though, it was difficult for Rantaro to turn on the boy completely, and really, talking to him nowadays… it’s difficult to hold anything but sympathy.

Rantaro, of course, holds more, but that’s something he’ll deal with later, when they’re both stable enough to discuss such things.

His knock remains unanswered for what he assumes is a while and that’s not uncommon but it doesn’t bode well nonetheless. He considers just walking in, but he and Korekiyo have talked about it before, and the former anthropologist, as much as he says he enjoys Rantaro’s company, enjoys his privacy more.

So Rantaro knocks again.

Finally a quiet voice receives him, tells him that he’s welcome to enter, so he turns the doorknob and walks inside, closing the door quietly behind him and looking at the floor for a long moment before lifting matcha green eyes to the bed. Unsurprisingly, Korekiyo isn’t resting on it, but on the floor, using the bed to prop up his back. His hands- precise, steady, long-fingered hands Rantaro is familiar with- are tangled in his hospital gown, but the look on Korekiyo’s face is thoughtful rather than panicked.

Walking as lightly as he can, which is still difficult despite all the time he’s had to get used to being a real person again, Rantaro moves across the room and stops a few feet away from Korekiyo. He’d sit down but he’s not sure if that’s alright at the moment. A slight nod from the other boy is confirmation though so he lowers himself down onto the cold tiles and tucks his feet underneath his knees, tailor style.

He does not, as much as he’d like to, reach out to take Korekiyo’s hand. That would be crossing a boundary, and they’ve set enough of them to understand what’s appropriate and what isn’t.

“Morning,” Rantaro greets, quirking his lips in a lazy smile. Aside from perhaps Kaito, it is the easiest for him to smile and act normal nowadays, in a way they’re familiar with. People like Kaede and Angie, so haunted by who they were before handed that positive, happy persona they displayed in the simulation, aren’t able to do the same thing, and they can’t be blamed for it. But to Rantaro it comes naturally. It begs the question of whether it’s the remains of two simulations in a row and the person he was forced to become, or if it was who he was before. (Does that person even really exist anymore?) “Sleep well?”

Korekiyo glances over, dark strands of hair falling into golden eyes, and Rantaro wishes he could brush them away, but he instead folds his hands in his lap to suppress the urges. Touch is difficult now, between them, and it was hard enough to draw the lines to begin with. He shouldn’t cross them. “Moderately.” Korekiyo answers carefully, and he always answers carefully, it’s one of the things Rantaro likes so much about him. Has grown to like, rather- they didn’t talk so much in the simulation. “Did you?”

The truth feels like lead bullets in his mouth but he shares it anyway. “Not really. I didn’t sleep much at all.” He shrugs, because this has never been about his own problems (he’s got them under control) but he still feels obligated to share it with Korekiyo. The other boy appraises him, his expression blank, and eventually looks away. He’s still wearing a mask, though this one is a sick mask rather than the fancy thing he had in the simulation, and Rantaro wonders idly how he’s dealing with the difference in texture. Outside of the simulation, did Korekiyo wear those masks as well?

Even if he didn’t, though, Rantaro imagines those types of habits would be a bit difficult to break.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks quietly, attempting to get Korekiyo to meet his eyes, and the effort falls short but he is still greeted with a verbal response, which is a lot better than where they started.

“No, but I imagine I will soon.” A loose shrug, foreign on someone as articulate as Korekiyo, punctuates the answer, and Rantaro nods, uncertain as to how to proceed. The former anthropologist isn’t done, however. “I suppose you haven’t?”

“Uhm, no, I haven’t,” Rantaro agrees hesitantly, and it wasn’t really for any particular reason, he just wasn’t hungry, and hospital food is always average at best. It’s nothing against the chef, he’s sure they’re trying and they do have a large amount of people to cater to, but still, Rantaro isn’t sure what kind of food he’s really used to, but it certainly isn’t hospital food.

“Care to join me, then? We can share, or I can ask that they bring in something for you.” Korekiyo looks back over, and his eyes crinkle in what is likely an awkward smile, and Rantaro raises his eyebrows, wondering if perhaps today is one of the good days, or if Korekiyo simply wants the company. Still, he would never deny such an offer, especially coming from this boy in particular, so he nods, smiles slightly. Korekiyo nods too, then speaks again, “Alright.”

Then there isn’t much else to say- or, rather, neither of them really wants to say it, at the moment. Rantaro lets his eyes travel around the room again, which feels an empty gesture because he’s done as much so many times that his gaze simply lands on all the familiar places. The corner of the ceiling closest to the wall, the damaged edge of that painting, a piece of garbage that has been collecting dust since they first came to stay at this hospital, and eventually he grows weary of the practice but it’s simpler than looking over at Korekiyo and risking starting an uncomfortable conversation, or making the boy feel awkward.

He’s broken out of the half baked thoughts however when a weight lands on his shoulder and he looks over, brows raised. Korekiyo’s head has found a home there, and long dark strands are tickling Rantaro’s bare arms, and the scent of candles touches his nose, and it’s not unpleasant but it’s still strange, because they’ve talked about physical contact before and it’s generally been something Korekiyo has been adverse to. Though, technically speaking, they’ve discussed the hands and the torso; never the head.

  
It’s something Rantaro wishes Korekiyo would’ve consulted him about beforehand, asked about his own boundaries, but to be fair he’s not uncomfortable and in fact wishes he could put an arm around the former anthropologist’s shoulders as they sit here. Still, though, the moment is sweet and he can bring it up later, because he understands Korekiyo won’t take it personally. He’s never been the type to do so. So instead Rantaro closes his eyes and rests the back of his head against the bed, soaking in the moment and the rare closeness, because it’s not often things are quiet like this and as much as he wouldn’t try and blame Korekiyo for the rest of it he much prefers the moments like this, where it’s not okay but it’s better and they can sit in silence without it being awkward.

He hopes Korekiyo feels the same. There are a lot of things they still need to establish before Rantaro will feel comfortable expressing what he’d like to see in their relationship, but he supposes it can wait a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not as angsty as I meant it to be I hope that's okay????? also it's not too explicit more a whole lot of introspection on Rantaro's part but that's,,,, typical for me so ajdfasbfkljasd
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed >:) feel free to leave a request, even if you've already requested and I've already done yours, it'll just take me longer to get to it bc I'm prioritising the people I've not already written for kekeke


	6. Saioumami, Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by CatBlasterDisaster! I love them so much so I had a lot of fun with this one (even though it feels really sloppy my apologies if it's not up to par with my usual work, I think I lose a braincell while I was writing this)
> 
> in other news CatBlaster is one of my favourite DR writers on this platform and you should 100% check out their stuff because it's absolutely lovely!!!!!!! a lot of their works are comfort stories for me tbh,, just very Soft and Good

“It’s been an hour,” Kokichi whines. “Traffic can’t be that bad.”   
  


Shuichi huffs out a laugh, folding the top of the picnic basket closed so as to distract himself from his own worries and reassure his boyfriend. “It’s possible that he’s just distracted. You know how Rantaro can be.” He replies, in a similar manner to the one he’s been using this whole time. With that said, it’s getting a little difficult to stay calm, despite his best intentions. He’s not upset at Rantaro for being late- god knows that Rantaro is hardly ever on time, even when he gets up hours in advance- but he is… a bit concerned. More than a bit concerned. Concerned to the extent that if Kokichi weren’t here, he’d probably just be stressing himself out with what-ifs in regards to Rantaro’s status.

Thankfully, Kokichi is here, and a bit of a brat, so it’s not difficult to keep a calm face in spite of his anxiety. The purple-haired man raises his eyebrows, flops back onto the blanket. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if he doesn’t show up in the next fifteen seconds, I’m eating the cake you packed for him.” Shuichi hums, shifting so that he’s not sitting directly on top of his legs.

“Ah, I suppose that wouldn’t be too bad of a punishment, but I still think you should hold off. You’ve already eaten your own cake.” He pauses. “And mine.”

“Point made,” Kokichi grumbles. “But I don’t like the bread you used on the sandwiches, it’s yucky.”

“You requested it.”

“Nishishi.”

It’s a nice day out for a picnic. The sky is a clear blue, but dotted with the occasional fluffy white cloud, and the sunlight is bright but gentle. Not overwhelming, like it can be on occasion. It’s warm but not oppressively hot; the air smells sweet, like grass, but is tinged with the scent of a barbeque from several meters away from where they’re seated. The blades of grass beneath them are cool and still wet with morning dew (it’s only around eleven by now) but they’re both sitting on the large quilt that Shuichi’s aunt made for him for his fourteenth birthday. There’s a gentle breeze, too, which ruffles Kokichi’s feathery purple hair in a relaxed way. Makes him seem more human than he does usually.

But he always seems a bit more human around Shuichi and Rantaro. It’s nice when things are like this, when his lies don’t carry any weight and he doesn’t feel like he has to be overtly cheerful all the time. His purple eyes are clearer than usual, though with that comes the added stress of him showing his genuine concern and irritation, but Shuichi is willing to overlook that for how happy he is that they’re here. (Still, he’d like it if Rantaro could show up soon so that they could all enjoy the day together, like they planned.)

Naturally it isn’t as though Rantaro isn’t late all the time, it’s just that an hour is a lot, even for him. Rantaro is easily distracted, and when he’s out and about he usually spaces off and finds himself somewhere completely different than where he was intending to go. It’s an endearing trait but at the moment it’s frustrating because Rantaro’s been traveling for the past two weeks, and it’s been a hot moment since Shuichi and Kokichi have gotten to see him. Not that they mind that part of it- neither of them would try to get in the way of something so important to their boyfriend- but it sucks that he’s not here yet.

Shuichi considers starting to eat now because he’s not sure how long the fruit he packed is going to last in the sun, but just as he’s reaching out to open the basket, Kokichi springs to his feet and runs off without saying anything. A sigh escapes the detective’s lips and he turns, not unused to dealing with his boyfriend’s antics, only for the exasperation on his face to be replaced by a smile when he sees the presumed reason that Kokichi took off.

Rantaro (the absolute fool) stops walking about three meters away from the blanket because Kokichi is charging at him full speed. When the shorter man jumps and throws his arms around the taller’s neck, it doesn’t go as well as either of them think it will; Kokichi overestimates how much weight Rantaro is really able to take being  _ thrown at him with no warning _ and they both fall down into the grass with a loud thud and an “oof”. On Rantaro’s end, Shuichi thinks, because there’s no way in hell Kokichi’s voice could get that low without cracking. (Not for lack of trying, on Kokichi’s part, though.)

Understandably concerned, Shuichi is on his feet in a second, contemplating going over there, but Kokichi sits up as soon as he ascertains that he didn’t just kill their boyfriend, straddling Rantaro’s stomach and glaring at him, which, that’s fair. As soon as Rantaro pushes himself up onto his elbows and Shuichi receives confirmation that he’s not, like, dead or something, the detective starts to laugh at his expense, unabashed. He’s got plenty of concern to spread around but that was both a funny and adorable display and he’s not ashamed to have enjoyed watching it. Now that he knows they’re alright, of course.

“Hi.” Rantaro grunts, bracing Kokichi’s lower back with one hand and using the other to prop himself up, making a face as though it’s taking a bit of effort to do so. “Geez, Kich, you’re heavier than you look,” he complains, and the other man gasps, indignant.

“Uh! I could get you killed for saying things like that, y’know!” Kokichi threatens, and Rantaro snorts. Still, given that Kokichi is sitting directly on Rantaro’s diaphragm, perhaps the jab wasn’t entirely undeserved. Shuichi decides it would be in his best interest if he didn’t say that though. “I think you owe me a good hour of cuddling tonight. You’re late!”

Rantaro has the audacity to blink, looking baffled, and shuffles around a bit more to check the time on his watch. “Oh. So I am.”

Chuckling, Shuichi finally walks over and crouches down by Rantaro, reaching out to brush a couple pieces of grass off from his shirt. “You didn’t realise? We were supposed to meet an hour ago.” He teases, without any real heat in his voice. “What took you?” As if he doesn’t already know.

“...I got lost.” Rantaro admits, smiling slightly.

“Lost?” Kokichi exclaims. “I thought I told you to take an Uber! Y’know, since you love cars so much, and all.”

“Ick.” Rantaro makes a face. “It’s not a long walk, I thought I’d be fine, but I guess I got distracted on the way because I blinked and realised I was in an alleyway I completely didn’t recognise.” He pauses, like he doesn’t want to say the next part, but eventually adds sheepishly, “Being held at gunpoint? I don’t really remember how that part transpired.”

“Rantaro,” Shuichi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s business as usual for him but that doesn’t make it any less stressful. He’s beyond grateful that Rantaro wrapped up his search for his sisters years ago, because he doesn’t know if his heart would be able to take it with Rantaro being in constant danger all the time. Not that he’s ever safe, apparently, but he’s glad Rantaro has good survival skills. The detective releases the frustration, knowing it’s something his boyfriend can’t really help, and lets his gaze soften, using the hand he’s been brushing away the grass with to cup the side of Rantaro’s face. “Did you get hurt?”

“Nope!” Rantaro grins. “I outran the guy and got even more lost!”

“Figures.” Kokichi rolls his eyes. “You know, if you had stuck around and got the guy’s information, I could’ve sent a hitman after him.”

“I’m sure, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t need you solving all of my problems for me.” Rantaro’s smile shifts to a less self-satisfied grin, more of the relaxed smile he’s always wearing, and then finally it relaxes into a sheepish, apologetic half-smile. (It’s a transition Shuichi is used to but doesn’t like; usually it’s followed up by some kind of self deprecation and it’s not always his favourite thing.) “I’m sorry I’m late, though. I’ve missed you two.” He eventually murmurs, looking between Shuichi and Kokichi. When his green eyes are tender like that there’s really no way that Shuichi can stay mad at him but Kokichi pouts, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Well,” he huffs. “I for one didn’t miss you at all! Your hugs aren’t even that good and you smell really bad. So.” It’s a lie, they all know it, and Rantaro just pops out his lower lip, blinking at Kokichi. “Stop. Stop that.” Kokichi makes a face, pushing at Rantaro’s chest. “That face isn’t allowed, stop it.” Shuichi snorts, wondering how Rantaro manages to stop himself from bursting into laughter whenever he does the puppy dog eyes. (They all know Kokichi is weak to them though, despite how often he pulls the expression himself, so it’s only a matter of time before he gives in.) “Ugh! Fine, whatever. Just say you wanna take over my evil organisation next time instead of using your dumb tactics.”

Kokichi presses an angry kiss to Rantaro’s forehead before getting up and sulking back over to the blanket. He’s not really angry, Shuichi figures, but he and Rantaro exchange a look before they both get to their feet. Shuichi jogs forward, slipping around in front of Kokichi and offering a small smile. Kokichi raises his eyebrows; he’s not able to disguise the affection in his eyes so easily this time and it looks like he’s about to crack a smile but he still stays strong, giving Shuichi his best deadpan look. For a moment they just stand there, but then Rantaro pops up behind Kokichi and slides his arms around his waist, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“Hey!” Kokichi protests, but he’s finally smiling, turning around in Rantaro’s arms and looking up at him. “You meanie! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Like you didn’t hear me coming.” Rantaro chuckles, making a face when Kokichi blows a raspberry into his face.

“I didn’t, actually! Shuichi and his dumb pretty face were there to distract me.”

“Oh, we were, were we?” Shuichi asks lightly, slipping forward and hugging Kokichi from the front. The purple-haired man lets out an indignant noise but still leans forward and obligingly kisses Shuichi when the detective smiles at him. It’s a bit too warm out to all be hugging like this, and in a minute Kokichi is going to spring out of the embrace, complaining that they’re all too touchy feely, but for the moment, when they break the kiss, Shuichi catches Rantaro’s gaze and lets out a breath, happy to all be together like this. They get a lot of these good moments, but it’s still something Shuichi is insanely grateful to get to have regardless.

“Alright!” Predictably, Kokichi wiggles out of the embrace and flops back down onto the blanket. “Thanks for overheating me! I’m eating your cake now, Rantaro.”

“That’s fine.” Rantaro tells him, not that Kokichi would stop if it wasn’t. Shuichi smiles slightly and leans into Rantaro’s chest, because he’s still feeling pretty huggy, and Rantaro rests his arms on Shuichi’s shoulders, pressing his lips against the shorter man’s hair. “Missed you two.” He mumbles.

“Yeah.” Shuichi agrees. “We missed you too. Take us with you next time, huh?”

“No way! I have evil leader duties!” Kokichi yells out through a mouthful of cake. Rantaro starts laughing, and Shuichi snorts too, shaking his head. He doesn’t mean that, he’d probably be happy to go with them on whatever trip Rantaro’s got planned next, but of course Kokichi’s not the type of person to admit that. Still, they know he’s there right along with them based on the way his expression softens and he gestures for them to sit down, smiling slightly.

Shuichi reaches up and takes Rantaro’s hand, fingers intertwining naturally, and then they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a fuck ton of requests to do but you can still feel free to leave one even if you've already left one! hope y'all enjoyed.


	7. Monokuma/Tsumugi, In-Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one was written for Siramay.
> 
> I felt a bit silly writing this lmao but I had fun anyway

Monokuma snickers. “I can’t believe you actually had to kill someone this early in the game.”

Tsumugi feels her eye twitch, turns a bit in her chair to glare at the insufferable stuffed bear standing on one of the tables further away from where she’s sitting. The range of facial features that Monokuma is actually capable of is pretty lousy- its face is always fixed in that permanent grin, but even from where she’s sitting she can tell that it’s mocking her. Tsumugi looks back at the survivor perk Rantaro entered the game with, tracing a finger over the dried blood on the Monopad. _Dried blood that she put there,_ she thinks giddily. Being the mastermind is so much more exciting than being a producer from behind the scenes, she wishes she’d opted to join in sooner.

“If Akamatsu hadn’t left so much wiggle room in her plan it wouldn’t have been a problem.” Tsumugi huffs eventually, tossing the Monopad to the side. She doesn’t care about it, nor does she care about disposing of it. If she did try to put a little effort into getting rid of the thing, then where would she put it? It’s not like she can exit the academy as she pleases. Besides, wouldn’t it be a welcome twist to the viewer for the other students to discover the evidence that points to Kaede having been innocent? The thought of people discovering her mistakes gives her a thrill of excitement.

“You’re gonna blame the pianist for your oversight?” Monokuma asks snidely. Tsumugi’s lip curls because she knows where it’s going with this. “Upupu, the mastermind doesn’t usually take action so early on in the game.”

“Well, Enoshima would’ve,” Tsumugi reminds it lightly, getting to her feet and walking over to where she dumped the original shot put ball on the carpet in her hurry to leave the scene initially. There are still pink pieces of thread clinging to it from Kaede’s spare sweater. Probably all that remains of her, now. Not that it matters. Fiction is fiction; it’s hardly a loss, and the original Kaede Akamatsu was not somebody worth knowing. It’s part of what made choosing her so delightful. Tsumugi smirks to herself and uses her thumb to clean of the small bit of blood she got on it when she picked it up last night. She needs it to be clean if the surviving students are going to find it in the last chapter. “She was going to have Ogami commit murder, remember? But nobody could predict Maizono snapping so quickly. Not even the Ultimate Analytical Prowess.”

With those words she sighs dreamily. She aspires to create a killing game as beautiful as the original, has been trying every since she became a producer with Team Danganronpa. The first trial was excellent; she already knows for a fact that the audience is hungering for more of that. _Killing off the protagonist really was the right call._ That’s why she’s not too hung up on the fact that she had to go out of her way to get the game started. It took a little longer than usual but for the twist it was beyond worth it. As much as she adored Kaede as a protagonist, there are sacrifices she’s willing to make. Her supervisors are happy with her. The audience is happy too. The only person who isn’t- isn’t a person, but, well, Tsumugi can live with it.

The not-person in question scoffs at her. “It’s not the same thing. Enoshima never actually participated.”  


“Ikusaba,” Tsumugi reminds in a sing-song way. “She killed her beloved sister and later used the body to get rid of the biggest thorn in her side. I might as well have done the same thing.” That’s not… entirely true, of course. She adored Rantaro last season but all throughout his appearances in this one he’s gotten increasingly more frustrating to her. She’s never had to deal with a character so blatantly determined to end the show before him and Kaede. Near the end she was glad she got to kill him, as opposed to someone else. He was far from her beloved. But it still made her sad to watch one of her creations bleeding out on the floor. She’s an author, of course it broke her heart.

“Sure, sure, whatever.” Monokuma hops off the table, waddling over to where she’s standing by the garbage and looking up at her as though daring her to continue contradicting. “What are you going to do when Saihara finds out?”

“Who says he’ll find out?” Tsumugi asks coyly, knowing full well that Shuichi is going to find out. The original Shuichi Saihara was incredibly intelligent, there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to reason this one out. If he was still in the real world he might have already cracked the case, been posting his fan theories on the internet and getting a bunch of views as he generally did. There’s not a very good way to tone down things like natural intellect- just as there wasn’t a very good way to tone down Maki’s skill with weapons, or Kokichi’s cunning and agility. Originally, when she saw the bright and peppy girl auditioning, she was certain she wanted Maki to be the soft child caretaker character she had planned out, but with talent like that… the reveal as an assassin will stun the audience, she’s sure of it. Besides, she’s been in desperate need of a tsundere character.

The best she was able to do was hide Shuichi’s intelligence behind a thick wall of doubt and insecurity. Once he gets through that he’ll be unstoppable, but for the moment she’s pretty sure he’ll keep stopping _himself_ before she even thinks about having to stop him. And there are preventative measures she can take, too, that can stop him from reaching the truth before the show is ready for it, if it comes down to that.

Monokuma snorts, which sounds weird coming from a plush bear, and shakes its head, walking away with the air around it buzzing with irritation. Tsumugi smiles thinly, waiting for it to say something, because naturally she cares about what it has to say (it’s the icon of Danganronpa, after all, she cares about _everything_ it has to say) but she’s still frustrated that they can’t see eye to eye on this. And Monokuma isn’t the kind of bear to straight up say what’s got it aggravated. From time to time she wishes it was, but then, it wouldn’t really be her Monokuma, would it?

“You want him to find out, in chapter six,” Monokuma eventually stresses, as though it should be obvious, and Tsumugi smiles, delighted that her plans are so clear. She’s glad Monokuma’s caught on, because if it knows the situation it’s more likely to be able to help her out.

“You know why, right? You know why I want him and everyone to find out? Why I need him to live to the end and figure out my whole plan?” Tsumugi’s smile takes on a sinister quality; her eyes darken with an unhinged kind of glee. Monokuma glances around at her, finally lets out a giggle upon seeing the pure excitement radiating from the producer. Of course it knows where she’s going with this, but it waits for her to speak first, because it wants to hear the words from her mouth. “Despair, that’s why. I want to plunge them all into total despair.” She lets out a few giggles of her own, sounding as though she’s drunk on the suffering of others. The preemptive suffering, perhaps, though her characters have certainly suffered quite a bit already. “Because I love them so much, I want to see them despair.”

“Yikes.” Monokuma mutters. “You really are a lot like Enoshima.” It’s pretty disgusting, but Tsumugi knows that it loves this regardless. This what it’s build for, why it’s still here after fifty three seasons. There’s nothing else in the world that Monokuma wants other than despair. And Tsumugi is the one giving that to it. That’s the foundation of this, this relationship, of sorts, no matter how twisted it might be.

“I’m just practicing,” Tsumugi shrugs, toning down the despair-gasming for the moment and regaining her previous composure with a plain smile. “After all, I’ve got to be perfect for the sixth trial.”

“Sure, sure.” Monokuma remains in place as she flounces over and pats it on the head, humming to herself on the way to the secret tunnel to the girl’s bathroom. It watches her leave, head tilted, then calls out, “What, not even a kiss for lil old me?”

It’s only partially a joke. Tsumugi glances over her shoulder, a brow quirked, and lets her lip curl up in a smile unbecoming of the Tsumugi Shirogane all of her characters know and love. Her eyes glow blue for a moment, the air charged with the sadistic glee hovering over her. She says, “Maybe later.” And turns around to head back to her dorm without a look back in that direction.

Monokuma chuckles. There will be a later, of course. Tsumugi is an excellent mastermind, no matter how much crap it gives her. That said, though, it has things to do. Students to harass. There’s probably some brat or another out and about despite the late hour, and now’s a better time than any to go jumpscare them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're honestly both so fucked up lmao asdbjkfbasd


	8. Celeste/Hifumi, Pre-Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one was done for Timawa!
> 
> sorry love, I meant to do post-game as well but then I just,, anyway. it's borderline just platonic but I hope you enjoyed it regardless!!

Hifumi looks around from where he’s seated at his desk, lowering his inking pen to the table with a dulled clink. For the past hour or so, Taeko has been sitting there in silence while he’s been inking. It’s not so unusual for Taeko to come into his room late at night without a word; in fact, it happens frequently enough that he’s taken to not asking questions anymore. He’s even begun leaving his key underneath the doormat outside for her to use in case she doesn’t feel like waiting for him to come unlock the door. It would be a bad idea, except that the only people in the building are Headmaster Kirigiri and his classmates, so he knows he’s pretty safe around them. Still, he locks his door habitually, so he felt the best solution was to just leave the key.

He’s not sure why she comes in, though. During the day she acts normal. At least, as normal as is normal for Taeko Yasuhiro. There are at least ten different layers of deceit hovering around the girl who is currently sitting on his bed. It doesn’t bother him to see her acting in that way, because they’re all coping with the tragedy in different ways, but it’s harder to deal with when she’s quiet and broody at night when she arrives at his door. The contrast is sharp, so sharp that he wonders just how hard she works to keep up the pleasant front she always puts out. If Hifumi was a braver man, he’d ask her why she bothers trying so had.

Instead, though, he looks back down at the sheet he’s been working at diligently for the past couple hours. The linework is perfect, and he’s almost done with it, but he doesn’t see much of a reason to continue other than keeping up with his routine. Nobody in the outside world is going to care about his doujinshi with the tragedy going on. And he doesn’t mind that so much, as his classmates are a wonderful audience on their own, but it’s as good an excuse as any to take a break.

He’s not tired, at least, not enough to sleep, and he thinks he has enough energy for another couple drawings, so rather than ask Taeko to relocate and retire to his bed, he stretches out his hands in front of himself and stands briefly, doing a couple stretches. Drawing doesn’t require him to be particularly mobile but he gets sore sitting for too long. It’s possible that all the remaining stationary has factored into his large figure. (Though he’s lost several pounds despite his best efforts with all the stress lately.) Once he’s thoroughly stretched out, he lets out a yawn and resumes sitting, turning the chair around so that he can look at his friend.

“Miss Yasuhiro,” he begins slowly so as not to startle her. She raises her eyebrows and looks at him, a small frown playing on otherwise blank features. Even now, at night, when she should by all rights be far more vulnerable than what is normal for her, her red eyes betray no real emotion. Thick black eyelashes brush against pale porcelain skin every time she blinks, inquisitive but not irate. Though, it is hard to tell, with her. Still, Hifumi is going to operate under the assumption that he didn’t bother her by interrupting her reverie, because he has no reason to believe otherwise. She would likely prefer that he act in that manner.

“Yeah, what is it?” Her voice is flat, without the high inflection and accept she usually puts on, and Hifumi notes that minus the fancy diction of her typical speech patterns she sounds awfully tired. She’s spoken to him without the accent before but it’s still sad to hear her do so. Taeko only brings it out when she’s feeling either serious or defeated, and neither of those spell out good things to the artist.

“Can I draw you?” He asks carefully, and she tilts her head to the side, brows inching together a fraction as though in an attempt to gauge his intent. Hifumi wishes her good luck in doing that, as he doesn’t really have any particular reason for asking, he’d just kind of like to. Taeko is pretty, even without her clip-ons, which she must have left in her room in favour of not making a lot of noise coming her. Her black hair frames her features rather prettily and her red eyes are usually shiny with information that she possesses and others don’t. As a gambler, having that expression on all the time does her a lot of good. Though at the moment they appear rather dead.

Taeko seems to weigh possible responses for a moment before shrugging, adjusting the folds of her skirt. “Sure, I don’t mind.” She eventually concedes, drumming her fingers on her leg. “I’m not really in the best state to be drawn right now, though.” And with that her frown deepens and she glares at the wall. Hifumi knows she’s not looking at anything in particular but it still makes him nervous. He refrains from looking over, though, because if he did he’d probably just make a fool of himself, and he already does that far too often when he’s engaging with Taeko.

“No, I think it’s quite the contrary.” Hifumi tells her with a smile, and he turns back to his desk to grab his sketchpad and a couple pencils. He also tucks a small eraser into his palm and then turns around entirely, using his lap as a flat surface for the sketchpad and leaning his back against the table, glancing between Taeko and the page. “You look lovely in your usual attire, of course, but it is also remarkable to see you less dressed up. A rarity I would like to capture, if it doesn’t bother you.” He doesn’t bother masking his appreciation for how lovely she is, because they both know he thinks so, but he also doesn’t look at the expression she might be making in favour of beginning to sketch out the circle of her head. Taeko hums but doesn’t respond, which he’s alright with, and when he returns his gaze to her face, he sees her features are blank.

With nothing else left to establish, he gets to work. Taeko is pretty good at staying still- indeed, she must have years of practice, being the type of person that she is- and the pose she’s sitting in with her legs resting on the bed in a neutral position and her hands folded in her lap isn’t an uncomfortable one so he doubts she’d have to fidget around a lot even if she was the type of person to do so. The room is silent aside from the scratching of his pencil on the paper and the shuffling of his sleeve rubbing against the page. He’s careful not to smear his lines, though, because that would be messy.

Hifumi has high confidence in his drawing abilities, such that he’s not worried about what Taeko will think of the drawing once he’s finished. They’ve both established that she likes his art in the past; it’s one of those things that they don’t really need to talk about. It’s good that they don’t reiterate it too much because Taeko is far from an emotional or sentimental person and Hifumi gets nervous underneath her compliments, despite the bravado he puts on. He’s proud of his work, but it’s different to have someone he cares about praise it. And he cares quite a bit about Taeko, all other things aside.

He finishes the sketch and hums, wondering if he should show it to her. The decision is made for him when Taeko clicks her tongue, holding out a hand like she’d like him to give it to her. Hifumi does so without thinking, watches her eyes scan over the paper, and a smile slowly appears on her face, one that touches her eyes, and he’s not used to it. She’s never so honest with him, though perhaps the fact that it’s three in the morning is contributing to it, and it’s jarring to see her smiling so genuinely like that.

“It’s more realistic than you usually go for,” Taeko remarks, glancing up at him and handing the sketch back.

“Trying something new.” Hifumi responds with a shrug. “So? What are your thoughts so far, Miss Yasuhiro?” He asks coyly, smiling because he knows what her opinion is. Taeko shoots him a look, as though daring him to keep teasing her, but eventually her gaze softens, and she shakes her head with a quiet laugh.

“You made this version of me look beautiful, so yeah, I’m impressed.” She says with a shrug. “Thanks, Yamada.”

“You know,” Hifumi starts, and then trails off, wondering what to say. “You’re still just as beautiful like this.” It’s an odd thing to reassure her about, because it’s clearly not the reason she feels so troubled at night that she has to come and stay in the room of someone like him, but he can’t help it. It’s upsetting to him that a girl as beautiful as Taeko would think that of herself without all the flair of her usual attire. She levels a crooked smile in his direction but loses the expression a moment later, sighing.

“I appreciate it.” She says quietly, and Hifumi feels a flutter in his chest, happy that she feels safe enough now to be vulnerable in his presence.

Months later, as Aoi cradles him against her chest and he opens his eyes again, he speaks nonsense to them but thinks of this moment instead, of the smile they shared at the wrong end of the night and hopes that Taeko will be okay, because she betrayed him, but… she felt safe around him, once upon a time, safe enough to lose the lies and the mask for just a moment, and wasn’t that the most important?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3 don't forget to request if you wanna!
> 
> also bear in mind that I'm writing all of these ships regardless of whether I like them or not and just bc I wrote it doesn't mean it's my favourite thing ever haha


	9. Saimatsu, Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one goes to Kayayday, who requested that Shuichi get pegged by Kaede,, sorry if this wasn't as hardcore as what you had in mind? I'm a Big Vanilla Dumbass
> 
> in other news I've never posted smut before (despite having written a good amount) so I hope this is alright? it's mostly just fluffy and a lot of consent stuff but that needs to be way more common on this platform than it is so uwu I'm not really sorry.

Kaede hums, fumbling with the sex toy in her hands and wondering if she’s doing this properly.

“Do you, ah, need any help?” Shuichi asks from the bed, and she shoots him a bright smile but shakes her head, because  _ no,  _ she would feel like a failure if she asked her boyfriend to help her put on a fucking strap on. She can do this! It’s pretty much a right of passage as a woman with a bisxual partner. Well, that’s her opinion of it, at least- when she asked the other night if Shuichi was wanting to try sex with a strap on, he turned bright red and managed to recover enough five minutes later to tell her that yeah, he did, but why did she have to ask it at the dinner table with Kaito and Maki?

Anyway, they didn’t mind, though Kaito ended up inhaling mashed potatoes because he was laughing so hard and he had to spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom trying to get them out while Maki stood outside and glared at the ceiling. Maybe that was Kaede’s fault, but she’s never been particularly tactful.

She finally manages to get the strap untangled and grins, placing it down on the floor nicely next to the dildo. The trip to buy thing was twice as awkward as the conversation about it but it wasn’t like she was about to buy it online! Who knows what kind of product she’d receive if she buys a sex toy off of Ebay or something. Kaede doesn’t particularly want to get an STD, so yeah, she went to a store. And the person behind the counter was helpful, friendly even, but it was still pretty fucking awkward as the worker watched her select a bright yellow vaguely penis shaped object off the wall. The things Kaede is willing to do to spice up their sex life.

“Okay! I’m ready to get undressed now!” She calls out, and Shuichi sits up, stretching with a yawn that Kaede finds very cute, as a matter of fact. If he’s tired, she might not want to go through with this, because she doesn’t want to have sex while he’s feeling muddled, but when he opens his eyes again they’re wide and attentive, touched with the nervous smile he usually wears whenever they have sex. (Which is admittedly not often, because they’re both fairly vanilla and that means that whenever they do have intercourse it’s pretty awkward and fully of fumbling and apologies and “am I doing this right”s but she wouldn’t have it any other way.) “What colour are you right now?”

“Uh, green,” Shuichi replies after a moment. His hesitation, Kaede thinks, isn’t as a result of him feeling uncertain about proceeding, but rather because he forgot that they agreed to use the colour system as well as safewords in discussing the act of having sex with a strap on. Go figure. Still, she raises an eyebrow at him, putting her hands on her hips and waiting for him to be more certain. Shuichi’s face reddens but he clears his throat and says more loudly, “Green. I’m ready.” Then, after a moment, he adds, “You?”

“Green as well!” Kaede chirps, and she reaches down to pull her shirt up over her head. She wishes she could wear Shuichi’s clothing, but he’s pretty skinny, and it always feels so tight in the bust area she usually doesn’t end up doing it. The t-shirt she’s wearing is hers. Still, she smiles when she sees him following suit, crossing his arms over his chest out of habit rather than embarrassment when he’s done. Slowly, Shuichi gets to his feet, his shirt falling from his lap and onto the floor, and his grey eyes fixate on it for a moment in concern before he shrugs and kicks it to the side, perhaps deciding to worry about it later.

Shuichi pauses, then asks, “Do you remember your safe word?” And Kaede feels a surge of happiness (and a bit of arousal, what can she say, consent turns her on) because she was about to ask.

She nods. “Yeah, it’s Clair de Lune!” She proclaims in a loud voice, and Shuichi laughs, walking over to stand right in front of her as he reaches out and puts a hand on her waist. He wouldn’t usually act with such boldness, especially in the bedroom, but perhaps the thought that Kaede is most  _ certainly  _ going to be domineering this time makes him feel more confident. They try to switch off when they can, because they’ve both agreed that they find sex where one partner is always in charge to be not only boring but a bit unhealthy, though admittedly Shuichi gets so nervous sometimes that he often yields to Kaede’s direction even in the times when he agrees to lead. It’s never anything very kinky, though, so it’s not a big deal. It usually just comes down to who’s making the first move. “You remember yours?”

“Sherlock,” he recites with a small smile, and Kaede nods before leaning forward and pressing her lips against his. She hooks her arms around his shoulders by nature, one of her hands moving to rub up and down his back as gently as she can. They’re taking this slowly; it’s their first time doing this kind of thing together, after all, and she wants to cherish every moment of it. After a few beats, Kaede pokes at his lips with her tongue, implicitly asking for him to open his mouth, and she feels his eyelashes flutter against her face as he does so, his own tongue darting out to interact with hers but ultimately slipping away to let her take the lead.

_ He’s so sweet, _ she thinks, opening her eyes and taking a moment to breathe before diving back in and deepening the kiss. Shuichi lets out a low moan in the back of his throat and she scrapes her teeth against his bottom lip, knowing he likes it when she does it. She’d never be rough with him- they’ve tried that before but Kaede stressed herself out trying to be rough to the extent that she had to safeword and spend the rest of the night watching comfort movies curled up against his chest- but a little teasing makes them both happy. When they finally break the kiss for real, she trails her lips down his face to his jawbone, pressing light kisses towards the bottom of his ear. She’s careful not to leave any marks because she’s not the possessive type, but she’s also aware that he has work tomorrow afternoon and the last thing she wants is to embarrass him.

As she starts to kiss around his neck, Shuichi’s hands fall to her hips and he taps against the waistband of her panties, gently asking if he can pull them down. She moves one of her hands down to his, nudging it to let him know that he can, and he doesn’t waste a moment in hooking his fingers on them and tugging them to the middle of her thighs. Anything else is difficult while they’re still together like that, so Kaede pulls away to remove them entirely.

Briefly, Shuichi takes a step back, pulling off his own boxers and placing them on the floor gently. Kaede glances momentarily at his dick (he’s getting hard but he’s not quite rigid yet; they’ve only been kissing for a few moments) before bending down and grabbing her  _ own-  _ the thought makes her giggle- and stepping into the strap. She practiced putting it on yesterday, while he was there, in preparation for the actual event, so her movements aren’t as awkward as she anticipated they’d be. Shuichi watches her, with a fond smile on his face, but when she meets his eyes, his face flushes and he looks away.

  
It’s cute, but Kaede still asks, “Colour?”

He responds immediately with a “green” but looks back over, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, I just- can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

Kaede feels her own face flushing, instinctively brings one of her hands up to cover her breasts, but stops halfway because she knows Shuichi’s reaction will be the same as hers. When did he get so alright complimenting her like that? Her blush is definitely going to creep down to other places on her body that he’ll one hundred percent be able to see because she’s in the nude. Of course, it’s the same for him, but that doesn’t ease her embarrassment any.

To distract from the fact that she’s flustered, Kaede picks up the dildo and carefully attaches it by way of the strap. A surprised moan escapes her lips and she startles, because the sensation is new but also because it’s right there against her clitoris. Shuichi moves closer, gently resting a hand on her lower back.

“Are you comfortable? Does it feel alright?” He asks carefully, which Kaede almost laughs at because it’s the same thing he asked when he fucked her for the first time, but she nods, looking at him. Obviously she’s fine not having a penis- she doesn’t particularly want one at the moment or in general- but the strap on is nice. She’s glad they suggested they do this. “Hey, Kaede? What’s your colour?”

“Green, sorry, I spaced out.” She does laugh now, but at herself, shaking her head. “It feels great. I’m excited to be inside of you.”   
  


Shuichi sputters.  _ “Kaede!” _

And she laughs, shaking her head, before sliding her arms around his waist and hooking her hands together on his lower back, offering a smile. Shuichi’s blush dies down a little and he shakes his head but takes the hint, putting one hand on her shoulder and letting her back him slowly into the bed. Once he’s sitting down on the mattress, she crawls up into his lap, letting out a small noise when the dildo that’s strapped to her brushes his torso and presses against her clit again. It feels  _ good,  _ but she’d prefer that Shuichi be feeling the pleasure too before she can really indulge it. So she spreads her legs, placing her knees on either side of his hips, and gently guides him to lie down on the sheets (of course they put all the blankets and pillows away beforehand because neither of them particularly wants their blankets to smell like sex) before leaning forward and pressing light kisses to his chest.

As she does so, Kaede begins to rock her hips against his, nudging his dick with the strap on. Shuichi’s breath hitches when they make contact, and one of his hands flies to her shoulder, finding purchase there. Kaede smiles against his skin and repeats the action, slowly grinding her hips in a circle in an attempt to gently stimulate him. Against her right thigh, she can feel him starting to harden more, and the next time she bumps the strap on against his dick she moans in the back of her throat, pleased with the sensation.

“How are we doing?” She asks breathlessly, looking up from his chest to meet his eyes. Shuichi takes a breath, reaching out and cupping the side of her face with a smile. His cheeks are pretty much permanently reddened at this point, but she’s certain she looks the same, and that smile is so handsome it makes her want to melt.

“I’m ready when you are,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb under her eye, and Kaede pauses to kiss the inside of his wrist before nodding and getting off of him. She slips over to their nightstand and grabs the lubricant from where it’s sitting on top of the wood, opening the bottle. They’ve used it before, the first time they had sex, which might seem a bit excessive considering that vaginas self lubricate and condoms are generally also lubricated, but Shuichi was insistent because he didn’t want to hurt her. She smiles at the memory, grateful to have a boyfriend who cares so much about her comfort. She wants to do the same thing for him.

With the bottle in hand, she slips back over to the bed and Shuichi obligingly scoots back to give her room to sit as she applies the stuff. She overestimates how much she needs to finger him open and accidentally pours a pretty generous amount onto her index finger, and Shuichi chuckles quietly because he’s had anal sex before and knows that’s probably not the amount she needs, but Kaede just laughs too and rubs it between her fingers.

“This is gonna leave my hands feeling pretty greasy, huh?” She asks, looking over at Shuichi, and he considers her question before nodding.

“I’ll help you clean up.” He responds softly, and Kaede smiles brightly, moving forward.

“Can you spread your legs?” Shuichi does so without question, and they go remarkably far apart; Kaede finds herself marveling at how flexible he is for only a moment before moving forward and pushing herself up onto her knees to have better access to his entrance. She places the bottle of lube to the side for the moment and it rolls a bit but not enough to fall so she puts her attention fully onto Shuichi, checking his expression to see where they’re at. He seems nervous, and his ears are starting to turn red, though she thinks that’s just because he’s currently spreading his legs for her rather than some other reason. Still, before even touching him, Kaede asks, “What’s your colour?”

“Green,” Shuichi tells her, and he bites his lip but smiles anyway, eyes sparkling. So she moves closer and slips her finger in between his ass cheeks, circling it around his entrance before pushing it in entirely. The lube helps, definitely; it slides right in, but Shuichi gasps when she’s in to the second joint on her finger so she stills, waiting for him to speak. “S-Sorry, still green, just-” he takes a breath. “I’d forgotten how weird it feels at first.”   
  


“Weird, huh?” Kaede giggles, because of course she’s never been on the receiving end of anal before (though that may change eventually, depending on what they’re both wanting to try) so she can only imagine what it must feel like. She starts working her finger in and put, attempting to stretch him out, but she’s never done this before and it feels weird. “Uh, can I put in another finger?” She asks tentatively, and Shuichi nods, so she slides in a second one alongside the first, pausing when he shudders but starting to move again when he tells her she can. She works her fingers with more confidence after a moment, spreading them gently and slowly in an attempt to stretch the ring of muscle so that it won’t hurt even a little bit when she’s inside of him, and by the time she’s put in a third finger and slid them in up to the third knuckle, Shuichi makes a noise that is far more high pitched than anything she’s ever heard from him.

Kaede wonders if maybe she hit his prostate? She doesn’t want to embarrass him but instead of pulling her fingers out this time she pauses in her ministrations before pushing them further in. She feels like she’s pushing it, but she manages to separate her index and middle fingers from her ring finger and crook the two of them that are still together, wondering if that’ll have an effect. Shuichi moans, and reaches out for her, so she leans forward so that he can grab her shoulder.

“Does… it feel good?” Kaede asks quietly, not sure if she’s doing this properly.

Between ragged breaths, Shuichi replies, “Yeah, yeah it does,” and opens his eyes, meeting her gaze with a small smile. “I feel ready, Kaede.”

“Are you sure?” She asks. “The dildo is bigger than my fingers, I don’t want to hurt you…”

“D-Don’t worry,” Shuichi sucks in a breath. “If it hurts I’ll tell you. I trust you to stop.”

Though she’s not entirely sure it’s enough, Kaede pulls out her fingers and hesitantly wipes the remainders of the lube (and other liquids) on the dildo. That won’t be nearly enough, though, so she makes a grab for the bottle and pops off the cap again, applying a hearty amount of the liquid to the toy. She rubs it over the tip and then the base, wondering awkwardly if she should be making a show of this for Shuichi’s enjoyment. But when she looks up at his face, he’s smiling softly at her, and the expression makes her do the sake, wanting desperately to lean forward and kiss him until their lips don’t work anymore. That can wait, though, until she’s actually inside of him. It’s smooth sailing from there, she figures.

Slowly, slowly, she lines herself up with his entrance, leaning forward and using a hand to prop herself up over him. Her hair brushes against his face and he wrinkles his nose but beams up at her, lifting one of his hands to tuck the blonde strands behind her ear. “I love you.” Shuichi murmurs, and Kaede smiles.

“Save that for the aftercare,” she murmurs in response. “Are you ready? What colour are you?”

“Green.” Shuichi responds without hesitation, so Kaede reaches down and slowly guides the dildo into his asshole. He’s thoroughly stretched from the fingering, so the head goes in without a problem, but as she starts sliding in, moving her lips closer to him, Shuichi lets out a gasp and one of his hands flies to her shoulder. “Y-Yellow, yellow, hold on,” he chokes out, and Kaede immediately halts, concern flashing over her features.

“I’m sorry, does it hurt? Did I not prep you enough? Is-”

“N-No, no, it’s fine, Kaede, calm down,” Shuichi reassures her, and he sounds certain but his voice is shaking enough that Kaede is unconvinced. “It’s just a lot more than your fingers, I need a breather before you’re in fully, okay? You prepped me  _ plenty,  _ it’s alright,” he adds, apparently seeing that she’s still anxious. Even though he sounds like he means it, Kaede is still hesitant to relax, so Shuichi moves closer and presses his lips against hers. The kiss is sloppy, as they’re both already breathless, but it soothes her nerves a little bit, because she knows he wouldn’t lie to her.

“Okay,” she mumbles against the kiss, and closes her eyes for a moment, returning the gesture but making sure that her hips are completely still, because he’ll be able to feel even the slightest movement; she knows this from experience. After a moment, he breaks the kiss, smiling up at her with a bright look in his grey eyes.

“Alright, green,” he tells her, and Kaede releases the rest of her anxiety and surrenders herself to her faith in him. She goes slowly, sliding the dildo in the rest of the way, and when she is finally fully sheathed and their hips bump, they both moan at the same time. Kaede is surprised by how  _ nice  _ it feels, how warm his body is against hers, how pleasant it is to watch his face change as she wiggles her hips a little bit. “Kaede,” he speaks her name, and it sounds a bit like a whine. “You can move, I’m ready.”   
  


“Are you sure?” Kaede asks. “You can have as much time as you need, I’m ready whenever you are.” Instead of answering with words, Shuichi rolls his hips as best he can being on the receiving end of the sex, and Kaede feels sparks of pleasure shoot through her. It feels good, insanely good, and her heart can barely keep up with it. Shuichi is smiling at her, a nervous, breathless, loving smile, and she swallows hard, because if he’s ready, then, she is too.

With that established, she pulls back her hips part of the way and thrusts back in. Admittedly she’s practiced doing this much as well, because she wasn’t really sure how to go about it when she initially suggested they do it with a strap on, but she wasn’t prepared at  _ all  _ for how good it would feel as the dildo stimulates her clit, or how it would affect her when Shuichi moans in response, eyes flying closed and head tilting back. Thank god they live alone, in an apartment with thick walls, because she wants to hear him, but she doesn’t want for anybody else to have this moment but them. This is theirs, something for them to cherish.

Kaede starts to slowly move in and out, a pace which is slow perhaps not for Shuichi but for herself, to get into the swing of it. She’s not sure what she was expecting from this- it was something she wanted to do, to try something new, but she wasn’t really expecting for it to feel so good, or to like doing it so much. Shuichi’s eyes are closed but she keeps hers open, wanting to drink in every look that flashes over his lovely features, wanting to memorise every sound that escapes his lips. She doesn’t want to forget this, the love for him that she has in her heart, and the love that is so prominent in his cloudy eyes when he opens them, smiling at her in a way he only ever does when they’re alone like this.

She leans forward and connects their lips, craving more closeness even though she is quite literally inside of him, and he moves closer, sliding his arms around her shoulders and whispering affectionate things between kisses as much as he can through the moans and the breaths that are escaping him.

This time Kaede is the one who calls out, perhaps to the room or perhaps to him, “I love you,” and he returns the sentiment, pressing closer to her. It’s warm, it’s pleasant, and it just feels so nice being with him like this, she wants to lose herself in it.

Her hand slips down between then and her fingers wrap around the base of his dick; he moans out something unintelligible and lifts his hips as though to meet her thrusts, body shaking slightly with pleasure. Kaede can feel herself getting closer and closer with every moment that passes and she doesn’t want to come without him so she’s jerking his dick in tandem with her thrusting. Finally purple eyes flutter shut and she focuses on her other senses to guide her through this, the onslaught of sensations she’s receiving all around overwhelming in the best way.

A particularly sharp thrust makes Shuichi cry out, tensing and untensing against her, and Kaede’s eyes fly open because she knows that that spot is the one she accidentally touched earlier, his prostate. She grits her teeth and focuses, angling her thrusts so that she hits it every time, because she wants him to feel good, with everything right now that’s all she’s ever wanted, ever needed.

“Kaede,” Shuichi groans, struggling to get out words that she can understand. “Kaede, I’m gonna-” he breaks off, but she understands, feels similarly.

“M-Me too, Shuichi, I-” she doesn’t even know what she was going to say, but it doesn’t matter, because a moment later she thrusts into him and he jerks in her arms, finally starting to orgasm with the dildo still inside of him. Kaede rides it out, because when he’s done coming she’s not going to keep thrusting into him because she knows overstimulation can be painful, but he calls out her name somewhere through the high and the sound of his voice tips her over the edge too, and she loses herself briefly to the feeling of euphoria that overtakes her body.

There is a brief silence broken only by the ragged sounds of their combined breathing.

After a moment, Kaede murmurs, “I’m gonna pull out, okay?” And Shuichi nods jerkily, lifting his hips to allow her more room to do so. She slides out slowly, wary of hurting him, and when the dildo is out of his ass she undoes the strap on, pulling off the dildo and letting out a hiss as it brushes against her sensitive nether region. She just came, too, she should be more careful about it. Shuichi seems to be dazed, still, so Kaede takes initiative and heads into the bathroom to clean off the dildo. She read several articles about it online and thankfully it’s pretty easy to clean; she just washes it with warm water and soap and rests it on the bathroom sink to dry. She slips off the strap as well, hanging it next to one of the towels and opens the drawer to get out a few of their softest hand rags.

She wets them with warm water and then shuffles back out into the bedroom where Shuichi has propped himself up. He makes to get up but she waves him off, instead walking over and getting onto the bed beside him so she can clean him up.

Kaede moves slowly, gentle when she cleans off his stomach and dick because she doesn’t want to hurt him, but he just smiles lazily at her as she finishes up.

“Wanna shower now or in the morning?” She asks gently, kissing him on the forehead. Shuichi hums, hooking his arms around her waist for a moment as he considers her question.

“You’re gonna shower now, right? I’ll go in after you.” He maintains his smile, lightly nuzzling her chest. “I think I need to rest for a moment. Wake me up if I fall asleep.”

“Sounds good.” Kaede whispers, and she leans down to connect their lips again, but this kiss is chaste, and brief; just one to tell him she loves him. When they pull apart, Shuichi bats his eyelashes at her, and she has to step away because she knows if she stays there she won’t ever get into the shower. Smiling, Kaede picks up her discarded shirt and panties, tossing the latter into the laundry basket in the corner of the room and selecting a new pair of underwear as well as a pair of loose shorts to take with her into the bathroom. “I love you!” She calls out over her shoulder as she heads towards the door.

“Love you too,” Shuichi tells her, and his voice is soft but she hears it nonetheless, knows he’s smiling through it. A warm feeling shoots through her and she takes a deep breath, feeling a good kind of jittery with all the endorphins from sex. She could take over the world right now, probably.

Instead, Kaede closes the door behind her and tosses the clothes onto the toilet cover before stepping into the shower, because she wants to be done before Shuichi starts to fall asleep, and that means she needs to move quickly. God, she loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a lot today but that's just because I've been doing nothing but sitting in bed and writing all day. I'm gonna be out of town in a week so might as well, eh?


	10. Sonia/Chiaki, Video game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Ocean Man. sorry, it feels so sloppy and I lost like the rest of my brain cells writing it. for some reason everything just felt really bad lmao ajdbfhbasd
> 
> hope you can enjoy it nonetheless

Chiaki inhales, clenching and unclenching her fingers around the leather hilt of her dagger. She doesn’t like this weapon, it’s unbalanced, but she had to kiss her trusty sword goodbye in the fight with that orange eyed gremlin outside. She was little, but ruthless, and Chiaki barely escaped with a couple hit points to spare.

Now, though, she’s not worrying about the gremlin at all. It’s been a long journey, for sure; she’s battled against large electric dragons with thick bushy black eyebrows and weird sorcerers with pale green grey eyes who ramble on about chance. All of the experience points in the world wouldn’t be worth facing that red-haired camera gorgon again, no sir. But it’s almost over now. Her quest is drawing to a close. She’s just got to defeat the final boss, because on the other side of that door, that’s where the beautiful blonde princess is sitting, has been sitting for weeks while Chiaki’s struggled through everything to save her. She can’t mess this up. There’s no resets this far into the game. If she loses here, she’s done for, and so is her princess.

The final boss is sitting in front of her, reading a book, which seems rather anticlimactic, but Chiaki knows enough to be careful around him. His long black hair is tied into a braid, which is a common hairstyle for elves like him. The thing that really makes him stand out though is the dark purple, almost black skin, and the ruby red eyes that shine from under a loose piece of hair. One of his pointed ears twitches as she approaches and she knows not to move any further. He’s the strongest opponent in the game, a worthy final boss, if she’s telling the truth. He’s got all kinds of magic. But for right now, before the final blow, she just has a stupid dagger.

Damn that gremlin for destroying her sword! It’s not very often you get a sword with a soul, and they’re twice as powerful! The sword in question had healing capabilities, and she did tend to stutter and self deprecate, but she was a good best friend, someone Chiaki liked having on her team. It was a shame to have to leave her behind. But the strange animal tender back in the first village she visited told her it would happen, in his weird, cryptic way, so she supposes she should’ve seen it coming. Perhaps she could’ve even prevented it.

But no matter. The dark elf is looking up at her, now, gaze intrigued.

Mustering her courage, Chiaki says, “You know why I’m here.” And hopes she sounds as cool and intimidating as she is trying to holding a worn dagger like a baseball bat.

Lips curling up into a bored smirk, the elf nods his head. “Of course.” His voice is higher than she expected, but that’s irrelevant right now. If all goes according to plan, he won’t be alive in a moment. He’s a ruthless monster who’s terrorised many people for no reason other than his own boredom. Chiaki recalls her original incentive to find and save the princess; her old childhood friend, a pink-haired dwarf who was the personal blacksmith of the princess herself. She wasn’t planning on stepping to face this elf, knowing his power, but when her friend died in her arms… well, it couldn’t have been avoided, really.

And there’s the added benefit that the princess is really pretty, but that doesn’t matter. “If you move out of the way,” Chiaki forces herself to say through grit teeth. “I’ll spare your life.”   
  


“Oh, you’ll be sparing me?” The elf tilts his head to the side. “You’re as cocky as the rest of them.” He gestures at a pile of bones at his feet. Chiaki sees the glint of a studded belt, one that she associates with bright colour and loud music. She grimaces. “How… boring.”   
  


“I’m not cocky.” Chiaki tells him, an odd certainty overtaking her at the sight of the dead fighters who tried to get by. “I’m going to defeat you.”

It seems as though the elf has something to say to that, but she can’t be bothered to hear it. Instead she darts forward, brandishing the dagger. Predictably, her opponent dodges the attack, reaching out for her with his fingers alight. She remembers the attack from a fight against another spell casting elf, this one larger and stature and far more amiable. She was able to talk them down and come to an agreement. As a result, she knows how to avoid the burning touch of the elf before her.

Inhaling, Chiaki lifts her arm, revealing the dragon scale gauntlet she got from that electric fellow after she defeated him. A bolt of lighting arcs out towards the elf when his fingers make contact and he jumps away as though burned, a welcome turn of events. He’s got more up his sleeve, but being able to fend him off has filled her with confidence, so she moves forward again with more grace this time, swiping at him with her dagger. This time, she lands a blow on his shoulder, and from the cut a silvery looking sand spills in place of blood. She doesn’t dislike the colour.

He comes at her with another attack, this one physical, a knife pulled from his belt, but she’s ready for that too, catching his blade on the hilt of her own and doing the maneuver taught to her by that patient swordswoman back in the village, effectively disarming the elf. From there, she reaches into her own belt and pulls out a wooden flute gifted to her by the excitable golden eyed tree spirit nearby, smiling to herself when the elf flinches away. It’s a final attack, and they both know she’s got this in the bag. This is his last chance to run, but he doesn’t take it. Instead the elf just stares at her in shock and anger.

So she lifts the flute to her lips and begins to play the familiar melody, the one she eventually used to lull the gremlin outside to sleep. It was harmless to the gremlin, but it won’t be to this elf, who has never experienced kindness or love before in his miserable life. The attack should be lethal. And sure enough, upon hearing the tune, he clutches his temple, a look of pain flashing over his features.

Chiaki doesn’t like to see it, so she closes her eyes, and when she gets to the end of the song, he’s dissolved into that silvery sand. She doesn’t care to stick around and collect her rewards, though. There’s someone much more important waiting for her on the other side of that door.

To her surprise, it opens before she can reach it, a blonde haired woman in a magnificent blue and white dress hurrying out. “I felt it, he’s gone, isn’t he? Did you kill him? I didn’t think it was possible, how did you do it?”

Princess Sonia is a lot prettier in person. Chiaki feels as though her brain has stopped working. “Uhm. I played this flute. I think.” She stammers.

“You killed him with a flute?” The princess’ grey eyes widen almost comically, and Chiaki feels her heart stop. “Wow, how wonderful!” She claps her hands together, a wide smile appearing on her face. “You’re here to save me, then? Thank you, miss, I will forever be in your debt.” She talks a lot, but her voice is sweet sounding and melodic and Chiaki could frankly listen to it forever and that would be just fine. “Who is it that’s saving me, may I ask?”

“Chiaki, your majesty,” she responds weakly, offering a small smile. “I’m just a traveler, really, but when I heard of your situation, I…” she shakes her head. Not necessary. “Anyway, you don’t need to owe me anything. I just, wanted to save you.” Because you’re pretty. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“How noble,” Princess Sonia smiles slightly. “Well, at any rate, I would still like to reward you somehow! I don’t have any money right now, but if you accompany me back to my castle, you will receive a generous sum of-”

“No, no, I’ll show you home but I probably don’t need any money.” Chiaki sighs. “It’s okay, Princess Sonia, I don’t need anything, really.”

Humming, Princess Sonia gives her an odd look. “Then… how about a kiss?”   
  


“Huh?” Chiaki feels her face heating up.  _ Yes,  _ her mind says,  _ a kiss would be nice.  _ But there’s no way she’s gonna ask for something like that, that’s indecent! “I- I- I-”

The princess giggles and steps closer, brushing undoubtedly grimy pieces of hair from Chiaki’s face. “I never imagined my saviour would be so lovely,” she coos, and Chiaki’s face heats up, and she thinks,  _ speak for yourself,  _ but as soon as the thought crosses her mind, Princess Sonia begins to lean in, about to touch their lips together in a kiss.

“Hey, Nanami, wake up!” A voice cuts through her subconscious and the scent of honeysuckle nearly overpowers her as her eyes flutter open. Rather than standing outside a large dungeon, Chiaki is in class, her face buried in her arms atop her desk with a line of drool down her chin. A sweet voice has beckoned her from the depths of her sleep, and if it were anybody else she’d ignore them, but unfortunately it was, in fact, the person who she was just about to kiss in her sleep.

“What…?” Chiaki blinks herself awake, wiping the drool from her face and feeling her cheeks burn. Sonia’s eyes are alight with amusement and gentle fondness. It’s a nice look for her, though she’s pretty enough that basically anything would look good on her face, but the gamer is too embarrassed to be entirely conscious of that.  _ God, she was drooling!  _ Kill her now. “Was I…?”

“Asleep? Talking in your sleep? Yes.” Sonia giggles. “Class is over now.” Sure enough, aside from them, the classroom is empty. But Sonia is still here. How embarrassing, to have a dream like that in front of her crush! Oh, but, she said-

“Talking in my sleep?” Chiaki echoes, feeling her face warm even more. “W-What did I say?”

“Uhh, I couldn’t understand most of it, but you said something about how you don’t need any money,” Sonia pauses, thinking. “And my name? What were you dreaming about?”

“F-Forget it, it doesn’t matter, I think,” Chiaki mumbles, embarrassed. “If you could just forget what you heard, that… would be great.”   
  


“Sure, sure!” Sonia gets to her feet, smiling. “Come with me to the dining hall, Nanami! I’m hungry, and dinner isn’t for a long time!”

Well, that’s not such a bad alternative, Chiaki supposes. “Alright,” she agrees with ease, glad Sonia’s choosing to forget about the dream. On the way to the dining hall, though, the princess reaches for her hand, and Chiaki short circuits but allows their fingers to intertwine, wondering idly if perhaps she’s still dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is definitely the worst one I've written so far but okay then adfjbdsb sorry y'all hopefully the next one will be better


	11. Naegiri, College AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for celestial_nova :) sorry it's not as fluffy as I intended, got a little carried away there with the thoughts as always
> 
> it's hard to do fluff with Kyoko though to be completely honest adsbfkjdfs I tried anyway hope you enjoyed

Makoto groans, lifting his head from the pillow, at the sound of knocking on the door. He doesn’t really want to get up- it’s ten in the morning so probably about time for him to rise anyway, but he doesn’t have classes today and he wants to squeeze out every little bit of sleep that he can before he is inevitably dragged into the world of the conscious and mostly living- but he also doesn’t want to be rude. His roommate, Chihiro, isn’t here right now, which isn’t a problem except that Chihiro would definitely answer the door if he were here, and he’s not. So Makoto absolutely has to get up.

He follows up that groan with another groan, slipping out from under the covers and shivering from the lack of heat. He’s just being dramatic, of course; it’s not that chilly in his room, but still, he already longs for the warmth of his blankets. Not daring to catch a look at himself in the window because he knows his hair probably looks like a rat’s nest, he shuffles through the small dorm and to the door, hoping that it’s not like, Byakuya who’s at his door, or something, because he doesn’t particularly feel like getting dressed right now. Or making himself presentable in any way. He takes a breath before putting a hand on the door knob and unlocking it, resting his head against the side of the door when he pulls it open.

Ohhh, instant regret. It’s Kyoko standing there in the hallway. Suddenly he’s wondering if he smells bad, if he should retreat back into his dorm and have a quick panic attack. It’s not like she hasn’t seen him like this before, it’s just that usually she sees him like this more or less after they’ve had sex the night before, so it’s never been a big deal. Right now, though, she’s dressed nice as always, a white blouse matched with a purple jacket and pleated skirt, and her hair is done in an intricate plait. Plus, she smells like lavender and old books. Makoto is certain he smells like body odor. Not a good look in front of his girlfriend.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Hey. I need your help.”

“What?” Makoto slurs, feeling slow and dumb. Kyoko barely takes any notice of it though, tossing a stray piece of hair over her shoulder. She’s so pretty, he really  _ really  _ feels like a moron standing in front of her like this.

“I need your help,” she reiterates, helpfully. “Can you come to my apartment?”

“I-I guess, but, why?” It comes out sounding weak and confused, but thankfully Kyoko puts him out of his misery with a small smile, reaching out to touch the side of his face with one gloved hand. The leather is soft against his cheek and he’s used to the sensation so he doesn’t mind it. It’s a tender gesture, too, intimate, and something that has become less uncommon from her over time but is still fairly rare, especially early in the morning when they aren’t sharing the same bed.

“I’ll explain when we’re there. Go get dressed, I’ll wait.” She seems to be content to just stand in the hallway waiting, which is pretty normal for her, but that doesn’t stop Makoto from moving backwards into the dorm room and gesturing for her to get in, a small smile on his face. She can at least sit on the couch while she waits for him to shower and put on something half decent.

Though, he muses as he gets ready, he doesn’t blame her for feeling a bit out of place here. (If that is in fact the case and not, perhaps, her inherent lack of social skills- though he wouldn’t change that fact about her for the world, as much as he has to be aware of it talking to her.) She lives in an apartment off campus, not in the dorms, which actually isn’t abnormal, but aside from spending time with Makoto, Kyoko doesn’t spend a lot of time around here. Nor does she have much of a reason to. He hopes she doesn’t feel terribly awkward waiting for him to finish getting ready.

As much as he’s aware of his girlfriend waiting for him out there, he still blow dries his hair, because he doesn’t want to get water all over the place- especially not at her apartment. Once he’s fully clothed and ready to face the world, he heads back out to see her sitting on the couch and reading through the textbook he left open on the table.

“Oh,” Makoto hums, feeling embarrassed that he left that out. “Sorry, I was doing homework pretty late last night.”   
  


“I don’t mind, it gave me something to do.” Kyoko responds, getting to her feet and moving around the couch to the door. “C’mon, then,” she calls over her shoulder, and without waiting for a reply, heads out the door. Makoto smiles slightly, because that kind of behaviour at well is pretty normal for her, and makes sure to grab his essentials (phone, keys, wallet) before turning off all the lights and leaving the room. He knows she wouldn’t leave him behind, even if she does act exasperated about it.

Kyoko drives them to her apartment, even though it’s not far, and along the way Makoto turns on the radio, grinning when his old neighbour Sayaka’s music comes on. His girlfriend rolls her eyes but turns up the volume anyway, which makes him smile wider.

But when they’re actually at her apartment, Makoto finds himself at a loss for words.

“So, uh,” he coughs. “What did you need help with?”

“In the kitchen,” Kyoko responds lightly, which isn’t really an answer, but it’ll do. He sighs, understanding that she can be pretty hard to understand at times, and walks through the apartment and to the kitchen, where there appears to be a box sitting underneath the sink. The sound of meowing alarms him stepping onto the tile in his indoor slippers, but it’s not long before he realises what exactly it was Kyoko needed his help with.

“Uhm,” he pauses. “Kyoko, did you… find a box of kittens?”

“Sort of,” she sighs, shaking her head. “My father has a cat, but he was too much of an idiot to get her treated, and she ended up having a liter, and as my father is too irresponsible to take care of too many pets at once, I offered to host them for a while while he figures out adoption.” She reaches into the box, lifting one of the small animals in both hands. It’s tiny enough to fit in one of her palms, really, white and fuzzy and definitely about to chew all sorts of holes in her gloves. Makoto has half a mind to take the kitten from her, no matter how adorable it is, so that it won’t destroy her gloves, but Kyoko’s lips quirk into the tiniest smile as she watches it, and he finds himself struck by how lovely she is and unable to speak. “But I don’t know what I’m doing either.”   
  


Finally, Makoto manages to find his voice again. “Yeah, uh, you’re going to need, uhm, a lot of things.” He’s never raised a cat before either. He and Komaru had a dog when he was younger, but that’s about it, and really not even close to what Kyoko wants his help with. “I’ll, uh, call, Gundham?” Gundham is a junior at their college- in other words, an upperclassmen and someone who Makoto doesn’t want to bother, but he’s a sweet guy, if a little… enigmatic, in more ways than one.

Still, Kyoko puts the kitten back in the box and nods, seemingly fond of that answer. “Great. Then, you can watch them.”

“Huh? Me? Why?” Makoto feels his eyes widening; he doesn’t know how to take care of a bunch of kittens! There are at least eight there!

“I have a case to work on,” Kyoko is working as a detective part time while she goes through college, so she’s understandably pretty busy, especially considering that she’s somewhat of a genius, but still… “And you can handle it, I trust you.”

That’s not really the issue here! Makoto is about to protest more, but Kyoko walks forward, leaning towards him and planting a kiss on his cheek, and even though it’s a pretty chaste gesture and they’ve gone way further in the past, he still feels his temperature sky rocketing. Damn her.

“Thanks, Makoto,” she tells him with a small smile before slipping out of the kitchen. “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” she calls over her shoulder, and disappears from the room.

Makoto lifts a hand to the spot where she kissed him before cracking a wry smile and shaking his head. He’s really done for when it comes to her, huh? He sighs as he pulls out his cell phone, finding Gundham’s contact and pressing the call button.

He supposes he doesn’t mind, though. He really does love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu
> 
> also yeah I skipped a request but that's bc it's my brother's and he's on a boat rn so I'm not gonna do it for a while in favour of prioritising the people who will actually see the writing I'm doing for them xd


	12. Tenkaede, Childhood friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by Impatiens_capensis. thank u for requesting this wonderful pairing I lov them so much ajdkfbakjdbsfk
> 
> hope I did my girls some justice. I'm always nervous writing Kaede

Tenko wakes up, as she so often does nowadays, to the sound of piano drifting in through her bedroom door, which is cracked open a smidge. The bed next to her is still warm, and carries the lingering scent of honeysuckle, so she knows it hasn’t been long since Kaede got up. With that in mind she is indulgently slow when she looks over at the digital clock on the nightstand. Both she and Kaede are the type to go to bed early- at least, Kaede is the type to aim to do so, if playing the piano doesn’t somehow distract her. It’s not all that surprising to Tenko when she sees that it’s around three in the morning. They’ve been asleep for about seven hours.

Ordinarily she’d try to go back to bed and sleep for the next three hours (ten hours of sleep is a pretty good amount in her opinion!) but this time Tenko gathers her hair in one hand and grabs a hair tie off the nightstand, using it to tie her hair out of her face in a messy bun as she slips out of bed. She doesn’t grab a robe or anything because they’re not her style but she grabs a shirt off the floor- from where it was thrown last night- and pulls it on as she shuffles out into the living room.

It’s a pretty small apartment, and the walls are thin enough that Tenko can hear her fiance’s piano playing very clearly even while ambling into the kitchen to grab herself a glass of water. Kaede has magic fingers, the kind that can always find the appropriate places on a piano without her having to put very much thought into it. The music always tends to flow through her. Her music is the lightning to her metal rod; it just comes right out of her. Tenko’s never been very good at identifying the storm. But at the moment she doesn’t feel she has to.

She pours herself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and finishes it off in a couple of gulps. It leaves her feeling a little less sleepy, which is to be expected from water. This is the reason she drank it. Despite feeling more on top of things, Tenko goes ahead and pours herself another glass, and then one for Kaede, smiling to herself as she puts the pitcher back (after refilling it, of course) and hip bumping the refrigerator closed. The water is cold enough that it makes the outside of both glasses wet with condensation, and then her fingers feel chilly, despite her having pretty good circulation. In a minute here she’ll be tucked into Kaede’s side, listening to her play the piano, and her temperature won’t matter.

As Tenko pads into the living room, she recognises the song that Kaede begins to play. Not one of her usual pieces; the blonde has a certain fondness for classical pieces, and Tenko has always loved anything that Kaede chooses to play, but at the moment she’s playing something from a musical. A musical that Tenko likes, for that matter. (Though being a musical fan isn’t exactly something Tenko broadcasts to the world.) Kaede obviously knows she’s awake, or else she wouldn’t have started playing the song.

“Tenko is no Ryan Gosling,” Tenko warns lightly, setting both glasses of water down on the table nearby. Kaede doesn’t like it when liquids are put on the piano. She’d never call anyone out on it- especially not Tenko- but the brunette can tell anyway, by the way that she always presses her lips together very slightly and looks away. Being engaged to a person who you really care about will do that, Tenko supposes. Though reading Kaede is more like rereading one’s old favourite book, if she thinks about it in that way. They were best friends before they ever even considered romance.

“I can’t carry a tune, remember? So you’d have to be both Gosling  _ and  _ Stone if you really wanted to sing along,” Kaede’s voice is a smiley face drawn on a pancake with blueberry eyes and maple syrup, even this early in the morning. It fills the room in the same way her fingers do, dancing across the keys. As pleasant as it is, she’s right- for someone so good at the piano, she really cannot sing. When they were in high school, piano wasn’t offered as an elective, and so Kaede went into choir. She enjoyed the class, Tenko recalls, but it certainly isn’t her area of expertise.

It’s fine, though. Tenko loves her for more than her singing skills. “What about the harmony? Tenko only has one voice!” She pouts, but she’s joking anyway. They both know the way that Tenko tends to sing this sing on her own, because she’ll do so often. It’s only a duet, so it’s not particularly difficult to sing solo. It all hinges on whether or not the singer decides to take the low harmony during the bridge. Kaede hums but doesn’t respond, so Tenko takes that as her cue to move over and join her girlfriend on the piano bench. They’re both wearing only a shirt, which is pretty funny if you think about it, but it’s not abnormal for either of them to sleep in the nude (to be fair, they’ve been in a relationship for far too long for it to be sexual  _ all  _ of the time) so Tenko is comfortable.

The type of person that she is, she supposes even if it wasn’t Kaede, nudity wouldn’t make her feel particularly awkward. But there’s something sacred about this comfort between the two of them. It’s taken a pretty long time for them to get here. Tenko slides an arm around Kaede’s waist, tucking her head into the blonde’s shoulder, and she feels her girlfriend shift against her so that they’re sitting closer together on the small bench.

They grew up on the same block, the one with a large, droopy deciduous tree on the end of the street corner and a ratty tire swing tied onto the largest branch. It had been there long enough that nobody remembered who tied it up, but that wasn’t the most significant part of the tree. The tree itself had been dead for years; at that point it was almost hollow, and all the leaves that ones sprouted from its many branches had came and gone. But the trunk was covered in carvings. Names, to be specific. All of them messy and uneven, like they were dug into the dusty brown wood with a lousy switchblade, but names anyway.

When Tenko was nine, she watched Kaede fall off a bicycle for the first and last time and lose a tooth. (Thankfully, it had been a baby tooth, one that was loose already, and Kaede didn’t end up having to get fake teeth in her fourth year of elementary school.) At the time it had felt like a huge deal. It was how they met, though, really met, and became friends. As much as Kaede was angry at the bike- to the extent that she slashed the tires and shoved the thing into a dumpster when her parents weren’t looking- she was a remarkably patient person, and it was through her that Tenko learned self restraint.

She learned a lot of things, from Kaede. Tenko sighs, closing her eyes and nuzzling into her fiance’s neck, listening as Kaede’s nimble fingers approach the bridge. She hasn’t really been singing, though she’s hummed a little bit here and there, but when the bridge comes up, she begins to quietly sing the words, as though without thinking about it. And it’s not as though she really has to analyse the words she’s singing. It’s a song that she knows well, and around Kaede things come easy. She never really has to analyse anything around the blonde. Not after being in love with her for so long.

Even though Kaede is a lousy singer, she still joins in with Tenko during the part where it splits into the harmony, and the brunette smiles, taking a breath. When they were younger, Kaede never wanted to sing for anybody. She knew she was better at the piano. But singing is the kind of thing where talent shouldn’t factor into it. Only feeling. And right now, at three in the morning, their apartment a navy blue with the light from cars and street lamps streaming in through their windows, there’s plenty of feeling to go around. Good feeling.

As the song draws to a close, Kaede’s hands slow, and eventually stop on the keys. She could easily play something else but she doesn’t. Instead those thin fingers remain perched on the black and white keys, short nails drumming soundlessly against each other. Tenko opens her eyes and watches for a moment, but eventually shifts so they can make eye contact, quirking her lips into a lazy smile. Despite the water she’s tired again, and she’d like to go back to sleep. In the bed, if entirely possible. But she’s willing to linger at the piano for as many songs as Kaede wants to play, because no matter where she is, it’s always warmer with her fiance at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from camp lol ajkdfajkdn sorry for taking so long on this request. more requests to come. all in good time >;3


	13. Himikiyo, Hair playing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by platonics
> 
> woooh two in one night. I enjoyed writing Kiyo as nb :3 hope you enjoy this one. it's rather short, and I hope that's okay.

Himiko turns her head so that she’s resting her ear on the table, gazing sleepily over at where Korekiyo is sitting. They have, since the beginning of the school year, been occupying the seat right next to her. At first it made her nervous, because she wasn’t really sure what to make of the anthropologist, but now she’s happy for it, because they’re a bit of a mystery in all of the best ways.

Nothing they’re doing is particularly mysterious at the moment, though, for the simple reason that they’re using a large, comfy looking golden hairbrush to work out the knots in their hair. They’re always so diligent about their appearance. It sort of makes Himiko feel bad for being lazy about it. But nothing Korekiyo does  _ really  _ makes her feel bad. Usually just intrigued. (Except that time when they teased her for mixing up anticipation and the act of pleasuring oneself. Boy.)

“Hey,” she reaches out to grab at Korekiyo’s sleeve but pauses, knowing that they’re not always a huge fan of contact like that without warning. Their golden eyes (the hairbrush is oddly fitting) slide over to meet hers and she distracts herself with how pretty they are before she realises they’re quirking an eyebrow at her, perhaps wondering what she’s going to say. Go figure. Korekiyo seems to be smiling, though, so she goes ahead and rests her hand on their arm. Not to get their attention, this time- obviously, she already has it. Could’ve gotten it without any touching whatsoever. Korekiyo has a keen ear, and they sit right next to her. Besides that, no one else is in the classroom right now. “How do you get your hair to look so nice?”

With anyone else it might be an embarrassing question- Himiko’s friends are so squirmy, it’s kind of annoying- but Korekiyo just mulls it over, lowering their brush to the table as though they’re putting a great deal of thought into a response. It’s a level of consideration she wasn’t really expecting from such a simple inquiry but she can’t deny it feels a bit validating to receive. After a moment, Korekiyo speaks. “I use conditioner, of course, but I would assume that’s a bit of a given.”   
  


“Mm.” Himiko mumbles, “I don’t like conditioner, it makes my hair all greasy and gross.”

“Well, yes, it will do that, if you rub it into your scalp.” Korekiyo raises an eyebrow again, as though they’re amused, which is an expression they give her often. It makes her cheeks burn. As much as she loves to watch them, it’s an infuriating thing about them, the amusement with which they so often regard her. “But if you use it the way that it is intended, in small amounts at the ends, you will find your hair is much less greasy.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.” Himiko points out. “Isn’t shampoo good enough?”

“You asked a question,” Korekiyo reminds patiently. “But shampoo is not the best for your hair. It strips it of the oils. That isn’t to say you shouldn’t use it, but conditioner is important as well.” They pause, and then add, “Your hair, however, seems to be soft enough without that you shouldn’t worry too much.”

“Wh-What?” Himiko blinks, hating how she’s suddenly flustered by what was so clearly a normal remark on Korekiyo’s part. (They seem to remain unphased by practically everything. It’s unfair, really.) “How can you tell?” Her hair is pretty soft, she supposes- it’s certainly not brittle. But that’s just because it gets really oily. She has to wash it a lot otherwise it’ll be all greasy and yucky. Korekiyo is considering her question again, in that thoughtful way that they do, either oblivious or too polite to comment on her embarrassment. Likely the latter. Korekiyo is fairly observant as far as people go.

“I know a thing or two about hair,” they answer wryly, then add, “Though I wouldn’t be able to say for sure unless I touched your hair. But I wouldn’t ask that of you. I understand it can make people uncomfortable. I certainly wouldn’t want just anybody touching my hair.” Korekiyo shivers. “Can you imagine, Ouma? It makes me uncomfortable just to think about it.”

Suppressing a giggle, Himiko nods her head, despite still resting it on the desk. She makes an effort to meet Korekiyo’s gaze, finding that some of the mock discomfort has filtered out and been replaced by the familiar calm intrigue that is usually present in their eyes. How they can move through the world with such an open mind to learning, Himiko will never be able to say. She personally isn’t a very big fan of humanity. People are pretty gross, to be honest. Unless they’re happy. “I mean,” she pauses, casting a quick charm to make sure her cheeks don’t warm. “I like it when people touch my hair. As long as they don’t pull it.”

Eyes sparkling, Korekiyo asks, “Has your hair been pulled frequently enough in the past that you need to specify?”

“...maybe.” Himiko huffs. “Mostly just Ouma though. Not that I let him touch my hair. He does what he wants and when he wants to. Resistance is futile with him.”

“I see his world domination plot is working.” Korekiyo snorts, and Himiko smiles too, because while they’re obviously being sarcastic, the tone they’re using is pleasant. Their voice is pleasant, actually, feels smooth and sweet like molasses dripping past their ears. She wonders if they’d be willing to read to her someday. Maybe she’ll ask, another time. As it becomes evident that Himiko does not plan on saying anything else, Korekiyo stretches out a hand and brushes her hat away, extending their fingers and carding them gently through her hair.

They’re very gentle about it. She can barely feel their touch against her scalp. Everywhere their fingers go they leave a burning imprint, as though their hand is on fire. They’re wearing bandages, so it’s not as though they can  _ really  _ feel her hair, but Himiko’s not about to question their reasoning when it feels so nice. Even when Angie was messing with her hair earlier this week, it didn’t really feel this good. Though Himiko has always been pretty weak to people messing with her hair or petting her on the head, so this isn’t too surprising. At least on her part.

“...your eyelids are fluttering, am I making you tired?” Korekiyo pulls away their hand slightly. “Should I stop?”

“...no.” Himiko tilts her head so it presses up into their palm, closes her eyes anyway. “I mean, yeah, I’m sleepy, but I’m always sleepy. Don’t stop.” She huffs, then adds, “and don’t make fun of me, either. It just feels nice, that’s all.”   
  


There’s a pause, and then, “Of course.” With that Korekiyo resumes stroking her hair, in a manner which implies they’ve done this many times before in the past. Perhaps they have. Maybe it’s a part of being an anthropologist. Himiko should ask when she’s more awake. At the moment she’s focusing more on how smiley their voice sounded before they started messing with her hair again. She’s never seen them without that mask on before. In her tired haze, she realises that she’d really like to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Korekiyo to play with my hair.


	14. Pekobuki, Rainy Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by mddnapstablook
> 
> thanks Mary :^)

Ibuki messes with the pegs on her guitar, smiling to herself and plucking each string experimentally. Peko watches her, idly drumming her fingers on the floor next to her. They’re both sitting on the carpet in the musician’s room. Originally they had date plans- Ibuki had some park or something she wanted to take Peko out to, but then it started raining, and Ibuki cheerfully announced that she had already forgotten the location of the park she wanted to go to, so they decided that the swordswoman would be serenaded instead.

To be honest, Peko doubts Ibuki really forgot where they were going to go. It’s not as though Peko thinks Ibuki wouldn’t forget something like that- she most  _ certainly  _ would, it’s just, when Ibuki said it this time, she said it more casually, as though trying to hint that she doesn’t mind the change in scheduling. More likely is it that the musician said that for her sake. But there are much worse uses of their time. The whole room smells like a mixture of cotton candy and coconut conditioner. Neither of which Peko ever expected to enjoy smelling, especially not when mixed together, but anyway. It’s warm in here, and through the window they can see the rain pouring outside without being in the middle of it.

It seems as though the musician has stolen a number of things from the dining hall. A microwave, first of all, but also an electric kettle, and a whole lot of top ramen. At the moment, they’re using the kettle to make tea (Peko likes black tea because she’s not absurd but Ibuki enjoys weird flavours like candy floss, and eggnog, so they just got a lot of different flavours from the dining hall and called it good) and if there wasn’t the most beautiful person in the world sitting next to her on the acoustic guitar, Peko might be watching the water boil right now. Well, it isn’t that that’s a hobby of hers, it’s just that she’s been in Ibuki’s room enough times to be intimately familiar with every object in here. Including the opened bag of stale chips lying on the floor.

Really, Peko hadn’t even known that Ibuki  _ owns  _ an acoustic guitar. She’s always been playing an electric guitar the times the swordswoman has seen her perform. And she’s extremely good at it- once one manages to move past the weird names and subject matters of her music, Ibuki is, without a doubt, a wonderfully talented musician, as her talent suggests- but the electric guitar is loud. It’s not Peko’s favourite thing, especially for a date on a rainy day. When she remarked as much, though, Ibuki had just grinned at her and dragged her to her room. The acoustic guitar, a lovely shade of dark brown, was in a case underneath Ibuki’s bed. It doesn’t seem to have been played in a long time, based on how out of tune it was when Ibuki gave it an initial experimental strum, but now the musician is tuning it by ear.

She plucks one of the strings a couple times, her eyebrows bunching together in the middle in that strangely serious concentrated look she gets on occasion. She doesn’t make that face very much. Whenever she does, it’s always pretty jarring for their classmates. Peko is flattered that she’s the one who gets to be privy to it the most often, out of anybody. Ibuki looks good when she’s serious. (She looks good all the time, actually, but that’s seriously beside the point.)

“This is an old guitar,” Ibuki remarks, perhaps apologetically, then finally plays all six of the strings, losing the serious look as a grin quirks the sides of her lips. “Sorry for the delay, Ibuki hasn’t messed with it in a while!”

“I gathered,” Peko responds simply, watching Ibuki’s talented fingers as they begin to pluck at the strings in a more decipherable pattern. In the dim light her silver rings seem to glow a more burnt grey. Her fingernails, which are cut short (to play the guitar, most likely) have recently been painted alternating shades of blue and pink. They’re fitting. “How often do you play the acoustic guitar?”

“Mmm, not often,” Ibuki tilts her head to the side, tapping on her chin in thought. “It’s not Ibuki’s preferred genre of music. She likes people to know she’s there, and acoustic guitars are too gentle for that! She much prefers the electric guitar, especially when it’s hooked up to a speaker! But,” she adds, giving Peko a goofy smile. “I don’t hate playing it. And I’m happy to play it for Peko, since she’s such a wonderful girlfriend all the time! Do you sing at all?” In five months of dating, Peko is surprised the question has come up, but she finds herself blushing and shaking her head, much to Ibuki’s apparently displeasure.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy it,” Peko starts unsteadily. “I’ve just never been a very talented vocalist. I can’t carry a pitch very well. Fuyuhiko could tell you as much,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “He has some awful videos of me doing karaoke in middle school and honestly-”

“Nobody sounds good doing karaoke,” Ibuki points out.

“That’s fair. Still, though, I’m a bit tone deaf.” Peko smiles. “I’d much rather just listen to you sing.”

“Well, Ibuki obviously won’t force you to do anything you don’t wanna do!” Ibuki’s carefree smile resumes and she strums a wonky sounding chord on the guitar. “But but but but! Is Peko sure she’s really tone deaf, or does she just have a low opinion of her singing because she’s so stiff all the time?” With a mischievous grin, Ibuki stops messing with the guitar for a moment and reaches over to poke Peko in the shoulder. Though not truly annoyed, Peko is a little irritated when Ibuki teases her, and thus she leans away, pouting at her girlfriend.

“I’m not stiff.” Peko protests, aware that she sounds exactly like the uptight protagonist of a romantic comedy. “I’m just not good at singing.”

“If you insist,” Ibuki shrugs, and Peko is certain that she’s not being taken seriously, but she doesn’t feel offended by it. Ibuki’s always been determined to push that Peko is superior to all others for reasons that the swordswoman can’t fathom. Ibuki is obviously biased, but that doesn’t make it any less flattering, especially coming from someone like the musician. Honestly, most times, Peko isn’t sure what the other girl even sees in her.

With that said, though, Ibuki begins to play a song on the guitar. It’s not one Peko recognises, but it’s a remarkably soft introduction to a song, such that the swordswoman is a bit surprised. It’s not often that Ibuki plays something so gentle. But based on the chord progression, Peko finds it unlikely that it’s going to be one of those heavy-metal screaming songs the other girl is so fond of. And when Ibuki starts to sing, her suspicions are only confirmed. Ibuki is singing quietly, gently, and when she’s singing in this manner it’s pretty evident to Peko why she’s called the Ultimate Musician.

When she’s screaming it’s a bit hard to tell, but like this, with the rain as her percussion, Ibuki’s voice is honey sweet, like morning dew. She sings the words as though she’s written them. It’s remarkable how much control she  _ actually  _ has over her voice, the way she sings through the runs without stopping for breath. Her hands move steadily together, changing from chord to chord and dancing across the strings as though she’s been doing it her whole life. And, actually, she has, from what Peko’s heard from her.

The song relaxes her. Any lingering tension in her shoulders from the week before this date comes rushing out of her as she listens to her girlfriend sing. Though she’s not sure if it will inhibit Ibuki’s playing or not, Peko finds herself leaning forward and resting her head on the other girl’s shoulder, eyelashes fluttering. She’s not going to fall asleep, but she does want to convey how calming Ibuki’s voice is right now. It’s rare that anything about Ibuki is described as relaxing. Especially by people who don’t know her as well as Peko does. But the swordswoman is beyond grateful that she gets to call herself one of the people out there who knows Ibuki better than almost anyone else in the world. It’s a privilege she never saw herself having when they first met.

As the song draws to a close, Ibuki murmurs something, but Peko doesn’t really hear it. Perhaps the musician is going to repeat herself, but before she can, she’s alerted to the sound of beeping from the electric kettle, and thus the two of them both get to their feet, shaking off the lingering sleepiness from the song. It’s tea time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels so sloppy but what can you do am I right lads
> 
> anyway I love my girls
> 
> I'm tempted to do another ficlet/drabble requests thing but with platonic interactions between characters from different games,,, only if y'all are interested though. and I'd have to close requests for this temporarily just bc I have quite a few and I don't wanna leave y'all waiting too long
> 
> let me know I guess :^3


	15. Amatoujo, Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this request is for Storyflight. ilysm I'm sorry that this took thirty eight days and it's not even high quality jbdsfjs I think this is my worst one yet :^)) it barely even followed the request and took me like four days to actually write
> 
> anyway they're lovely so go read their stuff. esp the Saimami OwO

Kirumi sighs, lowering herself down to sit against the bookshelf.

There are a couple tasks that she has yet to complete- at the moment, she’s got to fix something for Himiko, and check in with Kokichi about his super evil plans (naturally), and probably start on lunch soon, but as of a couple moments ago, she’s been sitting in the library, neglecting to do any of those things. Not necessarily because she wants to be slacking off, of course. Quite the contrary, in fact. Kirumi thinks it’s important to get to the things she needs to do immediately. As a general rule of thumb she’s pretty against procrastination. Especially as a maid.

But as much as she doesn’t really want to admit it to herself, she’s not really in the best condition to be doing work for other people right now. Well, alright, the wording there is a bit awkward- she’s not  _ dying  _ or anything like that, she’s just exhausted, is all. As much as she’d like to ignore it and power through to continue working (as she should, being a maid) there comes a point where tiredness turns into exhaustion and at that point all of her work tends to become rather… sloppy. It becomes sloppy. This isn’t to say that it’s not a high quality of work, it’s just, not her  _ highest,  _ and why should anybody receive something for her that isn’t her very best?

So she’s taking a rest. A quick one. She’ll be on her feet in a moment, she swears, just- she’s got to relax for a moment. Where nobody can see her. Hence why she’s hiding in the library. Perhaps someone will come in and find her, but she doubts it, because nobody really has any reason to be in here right now. All of the books in the library here are informative. There’s not a single novel to be found; if someone  _ really  _ wanted to read something, they’d go to Shuchi’s lab, because he’s got a wide variety of detective novels there. But on a day where there’s no school, and no big assignments that Kirumi knows of, she doubts anyone would come to the library.

Which makes it a perfect spot for her to power nap. Just as Kirumi is about to set about doing so, though, the door to the library creaks as it opens, and the sound of footsteps alert her to the presence of someone else.  _ Damn it,  _ she thinks, scrambling to her feet. Who could possibly-

“Toujo, hey,” Kirumi stops panicking when she sees that the person who’s entered the library is Rantaro. They’re smiling slightly, a student handbook tucked into their side, and while she’s not sure why they’re here, she’s glad that it’s them rather than any of her other classmates. They probably won’t ask any questions that she doesn’t want to answer, and they’re pretty quick, too, so they’ll definitely leave as soon as they’re done doing… whatever they want to be doing in here.

“Hello, Amami,” she greets, smiling in return, and dusts off her skirt a bit. The library is pretty dusty. Not the most becoming place to take a nap, as convenient as it is. “Are you here looking for anything in particular? I could help you, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem, I’ve already found what I’m looking for.” Rantaro smiles. “I was wondering if you’d like to spend any time together.”

Wow. Smooth. Kirumi chuckles quietly, glancing off to the side. She’s flattered that someone like Rantaro would ask to spend time with her. Though she’s not entirely sure it would be in her best interest to accept at the moment. There’s the fact that she’s tired, of course- which she’s not about to tell them- but also, if she’s not going to be resting she should really just be working. Kirumi opens her mouth to decline. “I might not be the best company right now.” Alright. So not as direct as she really wanted to be. (Also, it’s the kind of answer that prompts follow-up questions, which isn’t ideal, but whatever.) She’ll roll with it.

“Oh? Why’s that?” See, follow-up questions. Kirumi isn’t new to this. Perhaps the exhaustion is just making her brain muddled, and that’s why she said that. She shouldn’t give any other pieces of information. Making them worry about her would be disgraceful as a maid. Just say she has work to do and get on with it.

“I’m… rather tired.” That just plain isn’t what she wanted to say. Kirumi blinks. “I mean- uhm- okay.” She sighs, reaching up to massage her temples. “ _ And,”  _ she adds, because she needs to salvage this. “I have a lot of tasks to perform at the moment and I’d really like to get through them so I can go rest.”

Rantaro hums, crossing their arms over their chest. “Maybe doing work while you’re tired isn’t the best idea?” They suggest, and Kirumi thinks,  _ wow, why didn’t I think of that?  _ But it’s a bit unfair to Rantaro to get annoyed over it (they’re just trying to be nice, after all) so she doesn’t. The adventurer continues, though. “You should head back to your room and get some rest for a bit. I’m sure people won’t mind if you take a little bit on their requests. And I can get a rain-check on hanging out if you’re alright with it.”

Kirumi hesitates. “To be honest,” she begins, and feels a bit lopsided as she speaks. “That’s what I was planning on doing.” Saying it out loud doesn’t actually feel the greatest, though, and she’s tempted to take everything back, but now she’s in too deep. “But, uhm, not in my room.” The reason she’s not resting in her room is because it’s not out of the ordinary for her classmates to go there and ask her to do things for them. Typically that wouldn’t be a problem, but while she’s resting it’s something different. She doesn’t want someone to come to her room and catch her in the middle of a nap. Waking up in the middle of a period where she’s supposed to sleep always makes her feel rather groggy. Definitely not in a good head-space to be fulfilling tasks.

“Hm.” Rantaro pauses, as though mulling over her words in their head. And then they smile a little. It’s a wry smile. Kirumi is pretty sure they’re about to tease her. “So you’re sleeping in the library instead?”

“...yes.” Kirumi feels a bit embarrassed saying it, even though there’s nothing inherently mocking about their question. “I felt it was the place where I was least likely to be interrupted.” She sighs. “It’s a bit… selfish, though, to be taking this time to myself. I should just keep working through it, as I always do, but…” she feels dead on her feet, that’s what she wants to say, but she doesn’t finish her sentence, because anything further would probably make her start venting, and she didn’t ask Rantaro if they want to hear that. (Besides, venting to someone you’re serving is seriously unprofessional.)

“No, I don’t think you should be working right now if you’re tired.” Rantaro frowns. “Well, then, how about you just sleep in my room for a while? Sleeping on the floor in the library is really bad for your neck and back. You’ll probably feel worse after you wake up. Nobody is going to think that you’re in my room, so they probably won’t go there to ask you for things.” They offer a playful grin in her direction but she knows from the light in their green eyes that they’re being serious. “I think it sounds like a great solution.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” Kirumi states, and she doesn’t trail off, because doing so would make it sound like she wants to but is merely on the fence. Such a statement… wouldn’t be inaccurate, but she doesn’t want to make it sound that way to Rantaro. “I’ve slept in a number of places more uncomfortable than this before. You really don’t have to offer your room, I’ll be alright.”

“Hey, if you really don’t want to I won’t force you,” Rantaro starts, and they move forward, reaching out to touch her arm. Kirumi doesn’t move away but the sudden contact makes her feel odd. (Their hand is warm.) “But I’m also not going to take no for an answer if you’re just refusing because you don’t want to accept kindness. You’ve done more than your fair share of nice things for me in the past out of your sense of duty, so you can accept this. It’s alright.”

Their reasoning is sound but Kirumi still hesitates. “Are you going to give me much say in this?” She asks with a slight eyebrow raise. Rantaro smiles dubiously, their tongue poking out from between their lips.

“Probably not,” they shrug. “C’mon, if anyone asks I’ll just say I requested that you let me give you a makeover. Which you should sometime, by the way. Not that you don’t look great all the time,” it’s annoying that they can say things like that with a straight face. “But I still want to.”

“...alright.” Kirumi concedes, fully aware that it didn’t take much convincing on her part. She barely has any time to feel bad about it though because Rantaro rests a hand gently on the small of her back to guide her back to the dorms. She obviously knows where they are, but their hand is still on her back and it feels oddly stabilising. She really  _ is  _ tired. She keeps wanting to lean into them. (Rather than the more obvious answer, Kirumi blames this on the fact that she’s sleep-deprived and Rantaro radiates heat like a fucking microwave oven.)

And when she accidentally lets her head drop onto their shoulder for a fraction of a second as they enter the dorms, the smile Rantaro gives her in response makes it a bit worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice


	16. Ryoma/Kaito, Count the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was requested by Nono and your name might be a pretty accurate reaction to what I've written I'm sorry
> 
> this was an accident ;-;

_ “If you could count the stars, would you?” _

Ryoma looked over to where Kaito was standing, pulling his mind away from wet grass and cool night breezes in favour of thinking about what his friend said. It was an odd question.  _ If you could count the stars…  _ he supposed Kaito was trying to get at something deeply philosophical. He just hadn’t caught on to what it was yet. With that in mind, Ryoma responded.  _ “What do you mean?” _

_ “Well…”  _ Kaito paused. It was a clear night. The sky stretched out before them in a wide expanse of silver freckles, dotting the horizon like it was God’s nose. The moon was high in the sky and a deep golden colour, cut in half by the time of month but still filling the dark evening with a warm, dim light. Under the cover of night the green blades of grass he sat on turned a dark blue. Kaito almost didn’t look to be human. His skin took on a slight otherworldly glow, and his lilac eyes reflected the stars in them. If Ryoma felt comfortable looking for long enough, he could probably have found galaxies in those eyes. Instead, he just observed his friend while he thought.  _ “There are too many stars in the night sky to ever possibly be able to count them.” _ The purple-haired man turned his head to look back up, a wistful smile on his face.  _ “You’d lose track of where you are long before you get close to even a fraction of all of them. But if you could count them. Would you?” _

_ “...seems like a waste of time.” _ Ryoma responded eventually, pulling his eyes away but getting to his feet so that he could walk over to Kaito’s side. There must have been a deeper part to this question that he just wasn’t grasping. Still, though, that didn’t mean he wasn’t being genuine.  _ “Even if you could count all the stars in the sky, what would be the point? It doesn’t change anything knowing how many stars there are. And once you’ve counted them all, more of them are going to appear, right?” _

_ “Yeah, probably.” _ Kaito shrugged.  _ “There are always going to be more stars in the sky.” _ His lips quirked in a small smile, and he messed with the sleeve of his jacket, which he always wore improperly. Ryoma watched him. He wasn’t sure why Kaito had invited him out. It was a nice night, obviously, to go somewhere without light pollution, but they hadn’t done this in a while. Without some sort of reason, an excursion like this seemed… counter productive. Or at the very least, meaningless. As much as the tranquil feeling hovering in the air was pleasant, Ryoma couldn’t help feeling a little ill-at-ease that Kaito hadn’t told him why they were there. Not that he was going to bring that up with his friend. _ “But doesn’t that just make them more worth counting?”  _ Kaito continued, oblivious to Ryoma’s train of thought.

_ “I… don’t think I know what you mean.” _ Ryoma said quietly.  _ “Why keep doing something when you know it’s never going to amount to anything? You’ll never be able to sit down and say,  _ there are this many stars in the sky, _ because there are always going to be more.” _

_ “Exactly,” _ Kaito agreed, even though Ryoma wasn’t stating that as a positive.  _ “That means there’s never an end. You can always count on there being more stars for you to look for and number. The number you came up with is always going to grow and change, no matter what else is happening.” _ The taller man reached out a hand, as though wishing he could dip his hand into the sky and pull out a handful of stars in his palm, like he so often did with his friends’ problems. With Ryoma’s problems. _ “Even if it feels futile, it gives you something wonderful to keep working towards. Every day you know you’re going to count more stars. Reach new heights. Do things someone else has never done before. Count stars nobody else has ever counted before.” _

_ “But if there’s no end in sight, it just sounds tiring.” _ Ryoma pointed out, sliding his hands into his pockets.  _ “Even if I could put a big golden number above every single star in the sky so I know which ones I’ve counted and which ones I haven’t, stars are born and stars die all the time. Right? You told me that.” _

_ “I did,” _ Kaito confirmed with a grin.

_ “So why bother?” _ Ryoma looked down at the ground, rather than the stars in the sky, because all of a sudden they made him feel overwhelmed rather than impressed.  _ “I’m not going to see the end of that journey. Best case scenario I’ll pass it on for someone else after I’m dead. I’d have spent my whole life striving to reach a goal and died knowing I hadn’t accomplished it.” _

There was a moment of silence, and then Kaito said quietly,  _ “I think your perception of goals is a bit different from mine.”  _ He was still smiling, Ryoma heard it, but he sounded sad.  _ “If I could count all the stars in the sky, or at least start to and pass on my number to someone else after me, I… would have lived a life worth living.” _ Ryoma looked up at his friend, saw that his smile seemed millions of miles away.  _ “Because I’d have made friends along the way, y’know? Maybe we’d have worked together for a time. Maybe I’d have met someone worth loving along the way. Maybe I’d have found a reason to stop counting the stars and pass along the work to someone else.” _ Kaito finally looked down at Ryoma, his expression oddly serious.  _ “It’s about the journey, not the end destination, isn’t it?” _

Ryoma remained silent. He wasn’t sure what to say. Kaito’s eyes were abnormally bright, and there was something strange in them that he couldn’t decipher. It was hard to tell why his friend had suddenly started saying all of this. Why they were even here to begin with. But to vocalise as much felt like a betrayal of whatever message Kaito was attempting to get across, so Ryoma held his tongue.

_ “Can you make me a promise, man?” _ Kaito asked.

\---

Ryoma pulls his key out of the ignition, effectively killing the engine and shutting off the car. He’s not sure if this is the right spot (it’s been so long since he’s been here, after all) but the drive has been hours long, it would be a shame to simply give up and turn around, so he wants to try anyway. He slides the keys into his pocket and gets out of the car, closing the door behind himself.

His memories of this place are so foggy. He was what, twenty three, twenty four when he came here last? So much of that night was buried in years of hospitals and suppressed grief and eventual tears with no end. But he thinks that the field is down the path he’s standing in front of, so he turns on the flashlight feature on his phone and starts walking. It’s probably dangerous for him to be so far from the city at night without Kaito here to guide him to his destination, but he’s going anyway, because it’s the first real clear night in so long and he feels like he has to.

The walk is long and quiet. The first couple times Ryoma took it, it was loud and full of laughter. When he went here with Kaito in the past, they usually came with other friends, too- Shuichi and Kaede, Maki, Himiko, Tenko, Kirumi- so the trip was joyful rather than tedious or scary. Even when Maki threatened to kill everybody and Himiko complained about being tired, there was enough fondness and warmth in the air to dispel any negative feelings. That last trip they took, all those years ago, was just him and Kaito, but even that one was pleasant because Kaito was so talkative. (At the time, Ryoma had been unable to identify why this was. But he knows now.)

At the moment he just feels unsettled. The only sounds are from his feet on the trail and the occasional animal moving through the bushes beside him. It’s not the animal sounds that make him nervous. It’s mostly just that he’s starting to recognise landmarks on the trail as he gets closer and closer to his destination, and he doesn’t like what they mean.

And then, all of a sudden, he steps out into a clearing, and he feels the softness of grass under his feet, and he’s staring out at a wide expanse of stars, and his breath is sucked from his lungs not because of the beauty but because of the memories associated with it.

His eyes find the moon, and of course it’s a crescent this time- some things must be different, this night won’t mirror that last one perfectly- but its yellow light is familiar. Everything about this place is familiar. Ryoma screws his eyes shut and takes a breath, thanking the gods above for his solitude so that nobody can see his uncharacteristic display of emotion. Then again, after these past couple years… nobody could blame him, could they?

Ryoma’s mind wanders back to the morning after Kaito took him out here for the last time. The text messages he woke up to from Maki, and from Shuichi, and from Kaede. Messages that made him drop everything and leave his apartment in a rush, not bothering to call in sick in his hurry to call an Uber and drive to the hospital. Memories of white hospital beds and clean smelling walls and Kaito, wearing that pale blue-green hospital gown and looking as strong as ever but weak in a way that he couldn’t hide.

The reason they came here. It seemed obvious in retrospect. The diagram the doctor showed him, the manner with which the doctor pointed out the black spots in Kaito’s lungs.

He remembers feeling numb and dizzy but unable to fall over or shout or even cry about it. He remembers seeing Kaede and Shuichi and Maki and  _ everyone  _ crying, even Tenko, even Kokichi, but he had just felt empty. Words ran through his skull in an endless loop of  _ can you make me a promise, can you make me a promise, can you make me a promise  _ and he knew he couldn’t cry even if he wanted to because his mind was telling him it wasn’t real. Even if the signs were there they were false, they were lying to him, none of it was true. It couldn’t be true. But at the same time… he knew, undeniably, it was.

_ “Momota knew he was dying,”  _ Maki had said this flatly, plainly, when she and Ryoma sat outside in the waiting room while everyone else was talking to Kaito. They were the ones who chose to hang back. It felt appropriate, that out of everyone, it would be them. The ones who Kaito had helped the most.  _ “That’s why you and him went out right before he was hospitalised, right?” _

Ryoma hadn’t been sure what to say.  _ “Yeah.”  _ He eventually answered.  _ “I guess so.” _

_ “You can’t talk like that anymore, y’know?”  _ Maki had been angry, for some reason. She glared at him, and then at the floor.  _ “Not when he’s dying now. After he worked so hard for long to help you.” _

As much as Ryoma wanted to feign ignorance, he knew what she was talking about. Of course he did, after the day before… how could he not have? Still, he didn’t say anything. There was nothing for him to say. So Maki spoke again instead.

_ “You need to be honest with yourself now, Hoshi.”  _ She moved her glare back from the floor to him, red eyes aflame.  _ “You love him, don’t you?” _

In the present, Ryoma turns off his flashlight and puts his phone into his pocket before dropping back to sit on the grass. He didn’t have any good conversations with Kaito after that. Most of the time he was unconscious, or had coughed too hard for his voice to work, or the doctors just plain did not want him to talk. Most of that period was a blur. But at least Ryoma could go into the hospital room and Kaito would grin at him and there’d be some semblance of normalcy. At the end of the month, they didn’t even have that anymore, because Kaito was gone.

So Ryoma has been trying not to think about it. He doesn’t want to remember Kaito for the weak, sickly version of himself that he was in his final moments. He’s not sure what he wants. But now it’s been years and he hasn’t thought about it and he’s here now on impulse because the forecast said it’d be clear and he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

_ You love him, don’t you? _

If only it were that simple. Accepting that he loves someone is hard enough, accepting that he loves them when they’re about to die… impossible.

Ryoma wishes he could’ve, so that he could’ve told Kaito as much.

Dwelling on the past is useless, though. If he’s being honest with himself, he knows the kind of Kaito he wants to remember. He wants to remember Kaito as being bright and happy and insightful. As brave and funny and obnoxiously  _ stupid  _ but incredible nonetheless. Kaito deserved a standing ovation. He deserved to be remembered forever as the man who counted the stars. But he didn’t get that. He didn’t even get to start counting.

That’s why he made Ryoma promise.

_ “Promise me, no matter what happens, that you’ll count the stars.”  _ Kaito had looked normal saying it but sad in a way Ryoma didn’t understand until looking at it in hindsight. Melancholy.

_ “You count them,”  _ Ryoma grunted.  _ “You’re the one who wants to, right? You don’t need me to do anything.” _

_ “Fine then.”  _ Kaito looked up at the sky, and he pointed out the little dipper. _ “There’s Ursa Minor. That’s seven stars. I just counted them. You said nobody who counts the stars is ever going to see the end of it, so I’m just going to pass it on to you. I got seven, so, you can pick up where I left off.” _

_ “I think there’s a pretty big difference between the amount of stars I’m supposed to count and the amount that you’ve counted.”  _ Ryoma accused with an eyebrow raise. Kaito had laughed, and he touched Ryoma’s shoulder, a gesture which made the shorter man stiffen but not pull away.

_ “I mean it, though. Promise me you’ll count them.”  _ Kaito looked serious after a moment, all signs of mirth disappearing from his face.  _ “Please? I know it’s stupid, just-”  _ he looked away.  _ “Please promise.” _

For some reason, that had made Ryoma stop feeling reluctant. He nodded, albeit slowly, and Kaito beamed, pulling him into a hug.

At the time the hug had felt unnecessary; an overreaction to something that really wasn’t a big deal. Now Ryoma would do almost anything to feel it again. He knows that’s not possible, though. No matter what, there’s nothing that he can do that would bring Kaito back. He’s gone now; a part of the stars that he loved so much, Ryoma reckons.

So instead, he does the only thing that he can do.

Ryoma leans back until he’s lying down in the grass, his hands under his head and his eyes focused on the sky so that any tears that form don’t slip down. He finds Ursa Minor after a moment of searching, double checks that there are seven stars up there in the sky. And then, he begins to count the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just kidding I have no excuses


	17. Hajime/Chiaki, Ibuki, Mahiru, Mikan, Hiyoko, and Sonia, Frozen Yogurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Vandalia1998!! :D I had fun writing this even if this pairing sounds exhausting to keep up with. I absolutely love writing Ibuki and Sonia and writing from Chiaki's POV is always my absolute favourite so,, noice.
> 
> I hope this is what you had in mind lmao akjfdbdf

Chiaki looks up from her gameboy, wondering what exactly all the commotion is about.

“No, you stupid pig barf,” Hiyoko is snapping. (She’s, obviously, talking to Mikan, who is, as usual, cowering.) “I get Hinata today! It’s my turn! You had him yesterday!”

“B-But,” Mikan looks  _ awfully  _ sad. Anybody else and she’d probably just get what she wants. But since it’s Hiyoko, Chiaki doubts this is going to go in the nurse’s favour. “We made plans for today, to get frozen yogurt… of course, I was going to-”

“That’s no fair and you know it.” Hiyoko interrupts, crossing her arms and angrily pouting.

“Ibuki thinks you could go together to get the yogurt with Hajime!” Ibuki helpfully chirps from where she’s tuning her electric guitar on top of the fridge. (She’s an odd ball, that Ibuki.) “When Mahiru and I made plans with Hajime on the same day, we just decided to compromise and go together! It was super fun and Mahiru is super pretty so it was a really great time!”

“Ibuki’s right.” Mahiru agrees, nodding her head. “I don’t see why you two shouldn’t just go together. Also, Ibuki, can you get off the fridge? That’s not really… safe.”

“Ibuki lives on the edge!” Announces the musician, who subsequently plays a G major chord on her guitar, which is still horribly out of tune, and thus it sounds terrible. “Literally, sometimes!”

“Okay.” Mahiru sighs. “Just don’t fall.”

“How do you even fit up there?” Sonia wonders aloud.

“Yeah, that’s what I-” Mikan starts.

“I’m not going on a date with this attention whore!” Hiyoko cries, cutting Mikan off again. “She’ll just hog Hinata to herself the whooole time! No way!” She stomps on the ground a bit, y’know, like a child, and Mikan sobs something about how she promises she won’t keep Hajime to herself the whole time- though, if Chiaki is being honest, she doesn’t think it’s a very good idea for the two of them to go on a date with Hajime at the same time. Not just for their sake, because she knows that they really don’t get along, but for Hajime’s as well. The only reason this whole arrangement works is because they’re able to talk to each other about seeing him and decide when things need to be done separate and done together. If Hiyoko and Mikan can’t figure that out, then they need to start talking about  _ why.  _ Communication is important in a relationship like this.

“I know you meant you’re not going on a date at the same time as Tsumiki,” Sonia begins. “But it really did just sound like she asked you out and you rejected her, Saionji. You should be careful with your wording.”

“If she’s asking me out, the answer is also no!”

“I-I’m not asking you out!” Mikan protests. “I just wanted to-”

“I might be!” Ibuki offers helpfully, perhaps unaware that she’s also cutting off Mikan. “Though I think we’d have to talk to Hajime if we wanted to date…”

“No, I don’t wanna date you!” Hiyoko shouts.

“Fair enough,” Ibuki shrugs. “At least Mahiru loves me!”

Mahiru smiles slightly, but it doesn’t erase the exhaustion painted across her face. “Look, maybe Mikan can get half the day and you can get half the day, is that okay, Hiyoko? Or you two can do whatever, and then Mikan can take Hinata for frozen yogurt afterwards. How does that-”

“I don’t wanna compromise! She got him yesterday!”

“Nothing is going to come of this if you don’t bend a little bit, Saionji.” Sonia is frowning, crossing her arms. “You’ll need to figure  _ something  _ out.”

Chiaki shakes her head and turns her attention back to her video game. She’s getting closer to a new high score on this level. Worrying about what everyone else is talking about right now is a waste of her time when it clearly doesn’t concern her. Honestly, they’re all so tiring. Why can’t they just date other people? That being said, something like that would require Chiaki as well to stop dating Hajime, which- well, no can do about that. Not that she’s not perfectly fond of other people. If not for her attraction to Hajime, she’d be happy to go out with Sonia, or Makoto, from the class below hers, but… suffice to say that there’s a reason she’s in this relationship to begin with.

Just as she’s about to beat the level again, though, she’s forcefully dragged back into the real world by the cruel hands of fate. And by that she means, by the other girls’ voices.

“Nanami, what do you think?” Mahiru sounds exasperated. “What should they do?”

“Huh?” Chiaki looks up, and immediately dies in her game. “Dang it, you made me lose… oh well.”

“Do you need me to explain what the argument is about, Nanami?” Sonia offers politely, and Chiaki thinks,  _ yeah, would totally date her,  _ but brushes of the thoughts in favour of shaking her head, because she knows the reason behind the squabble, she’s just not sure what they want her to say.

“I dunno. Seems like you’re being kinda immature.” She shrugs. “This is a stupid and pointless argument with a lot of really easy solutions but the obvious answer was to just ask Hinata what he wants to do.” She looks back at her gameboy, watching the loading screen as it begins to load her level back up again. “Since you’re talking about going out on a date with  _ him,  _ just ask for  _ his  _ opinion. I think he should get a say in it too.” Chiaki tosses an apathetic look over her shoulder before starting to play again. “That’s just my opinion, though.”

Right as she gets past the first obstacle, the door opens and the man in question walks in. Hajime is smiling, holding a gallon of orange juice, but he pauses when he sees all the girls in the kitchen, standing around like they’ve just gotten into a fight.

He pauses, and then, “Why is Mioda on the fridge?”

“Ibuki is tuning her guitar!” Ibuki plays a G major chord again, and it’s a little better this time. “Welcome home, Hajime! We all turned into lizards while you were gone!”

“...no, you didn’t.”

“Gasp! Did Hajime turn into a lizard too, and that’s why he can’t see that we’re lizards now?”

“Did you just say gasp out loud?” Sonia asks.

“Hinata,” Hiyoko whines. “We were supposed to go on a date today, right?”

“That’s what we planned on, yeah.” Hajime nods, smiling slightly again as he moves forward to put his orange juice in the fridge. “You wanted to go to the movies, right? I meant to ask, by the way, if you’d want to go for frozen yogurt afterwards with Tsumiki and me, since Tsumiki got a bunch of coupons and invited me to go spend them.”

The room is dead silent.

“What?” Hajime blinks, the innocent fool.

“How many coupons?” Sonia asks.

“E-Enough for everyone,” Mikan says, and she seems a bit sulky. “Which I was trying to say the whole time, except I kept getting interrupted… b-but, I’m sorry if it seems like I’m frustrated about it, I just-”

“It’s fine,” Chiaki says quietly, though she’s also interrupting Mikan and hopes she’ll be forgiven for it. “I’d be frustrated too. You just wanted to take us all out for yogurt, huh?”

“Yeah.” Mikan sighs. “But if you don’t wanna go, Saionji, that’s fine.”

Hiyoko is quiet, as though startled. “W-Well, I don’t not wanna go, dummy!” She exclaims, face reddening. “I’m just saying, if you hog him all to yourself, I’m not gonna be happy!”

“I’m right here,” Hajime frowns.

Chiaki rolls her eyes and tunes out of the rest of the conversation. They make plans to meet up after Hiyoko and Hajime catch their movie, which is fantastic, but she’ll worry about it and listen to it later. They’re all so tiresome. But, she thinks, as Hajime drops a kiss onto her forehead and a whisper of good luck at getting a better score in her game before heading out, and Sonia drops down to sit at her side, the scent of honeysuckle wafting over from her shampoo, Chiaki figures they’re worth putting up with anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want all the SDR2 girls to be attracted to me enough to form a big poly relationship too... actually I'd trade my liver to just date Ibuki Mioda is that so much to ask


	18. Kyoko and Shuichi, Crime Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another one for celestial_nova!! :D tysm for requesting this I am so WEAK for these two.
> 
> I also had fun creating a bit of a detective AU for uhhh the Gang (tm) so I might flesh this out some more in the future
> 
> sorry I didn't focus so much on the relationship as I did the investigation I got a bit carried away
> 
> qwq

Kyoko crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe and surveying the crime scene. She likes to take a look at everything before she moves forward and looks at specific details. There are going to be a number of things here that are obvious, that anybody could pick up on, and she shouldn’t waste her time with those, because if this is going to be a case worth her time, those details won’t be the ones that will give away the culprit. Her focus is on the small, more well-hidden pieces of information, that the average person couldn’t see. That’s why she takes a step back before diving in, to see if anything catches her eye.

She’s here a bit later than the rest of the investigative team, which is awkward and also a tad bit annoying if she thinks about it, because they’ll have gone in already and started messing with things and coming to all sorts of rushed conclusions before she could even have a chance to arrive. The people she works with, they’re not  _ bad,  _ they’re just sort of incompetent, at times, is all.

“Kirigiri,” her partner, Shuichi, steps up behind her, and she nods at him (they came here together, though, so there’s not much use in any fanfare) as he sets about doing the same thing as her. “Uhm, does anything look particularly suspicious at the moment?”

Kyoko ponders his question and eventually nods. “Kuzuryuu, what is it there that you’re looking at?” She calls out, then pushes off the wall and strides forward. Fuyuhiko, the man who she called out to, is technically her superior- but only because he’s been in this particular department longer than she has. They both know that she’s the better detective. At any rate, he offers her a small smile when she comes over and shifts his body so that she can view the object he’s holding. Just as she suspected, it’s a paperweight, and stained with dried blood. Thankfully, Fuyuhiko is wearing gloves, so he’s not messing with it too much.

“A possible murder weapon,” he responds, and Kyoko takes a moment longer to look at it, wondering if that is really the truth. She doesn’t want to make Fuyuhiko feel bad, though, so she just nods her head, and he slides it into an evidence baggy as she turns and walks somewhere else.

Across the scene, Maki, the medical examiner on their team, is tilting up the victim’s chin with a finger so that she can look at their neck. Kyoko watches her work for a moment before deciding that the brown-haired woman has got it covered and moves on, treading over to where another one of her technical superiors, Chiaki, is examining one of the doors in the room. It appears to lead outside, the detective notes- one of many doors that do. She follows Chiaki’s gaze and sees that it’s fixed on the doorknob, which is bronze, and remarkably shiny in the light.

“Nanami, what are you thinking?” Kyoko asks, though she suspects she knows what the other woman is thinking. Chiaki straightens up, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and turning her head to look at Kyoko.

“It’s kinda weird that the doorknob is so clean when the building is so old, isn’t it?” Chiaki questions, and Kyoko suppresses the urge to smile, because she’s spot on. “There should be fingerprints of some sort. At least, that’s what I think.” She tacks on, then looks back at the knob. “I’m… gonna take a picture of this. Could be important.” She murmurs.

With no need to say anything else, Kyoko moves on. She briefly watches Byakuya and Kaito, a couple of her coworkers, deliberate about the time of death, but she doesn’t think that it’s worth talking about until Maki gets her results- and anyway, there’s a better way to do it than standing around and chatting- so she moves on without really listening to what they’re saying. Makoto, a close friend of hers but also another one of her coworkers, is helping Hajime (their boss, essentially) get witness reports. She’s got no need to go there, her specialty isn’t in socialisation. When they have a pretty clear picture of the timeline, she’ll go back and ask the questions she needs to. Or, rather, have someone else go back and ask the questions for her. At the moment, she knows there are things in this crime scene that nobody else has noticed yet.

Well, not  _ nobody  _ else. That would’ve been true up until very recently, but it isn’t with Shuichi as her partner. Speaking of Shuichi, Kyoko glances around the room until she spots the black-haired man, wondering what’s caught his interest. He’s looking at the garbage bin by the entrance, a frown on his face, and so she walks over to see what’s on his mind.

As she approaches, Shuichi starts to speak, perhaps knowing that she won’t want to waste time with pleasantries. (He’s a quick learner. He’s spent the least time with her out of everyone here, being the newest addition into their department, and yet he’s the only person who’s figured out that she isn’t very talkative. Except Maki, of course. Kyoko likes Maki.) “Isn’t it strange that there’s no garbage?” He comments, gesturing at the bin. And indeed, the bin is empty. Not only that, but there’s a fine layer of dust on the bottom of the bin, which implies that there’s usually a bag on top keeping the garbage out of it… but there’s no bag inside the garbage at the moment.

Humming, Kyoko says, “Perhaps the culprit got rid of the garbage and didn’t take the time to replace the bag.”

“Right.” Shuichi nods. “There must have been incriminating evidence in that bag.” He pauses, frowning slightly. “Where do they take their garbage here?” He inquires, as though Kyoko would actually know the answer to that question. She hums, then gestures at the exit to the room, and Shuichi gets the message- he should go ask someone who knows. A small, sheepish smile appears on his face and he gets to his feet. “I’ll, uhm, go ask the receptionist.” He tells her. “She probably knows.”

After that, he jogs away, and Kyoko gets to her feet as well, walking back over to where the victim is lying. (Maki has moved on to examining their eyes, beneath their eyelids, and down their throat, too, but Kyoko trusts she knows what she’s doing.) In the position that their body was found in, they were sprawled out on the floor, arms and legs splayed in varying positions. They were lying rather close to an armchair, which makes Kyoko think it’s possible that they were sitting on the chair when they died. Based on the blood splatters on the chair and the floor, the scene is telling her that the victim must have been wacked in the head with the paperweight. But something about this feels odd, so she crouches and begins to investigate the chair instead.

The chair itself is a dark green, which makes it hard to tell, but near the back of the seat cushion, there is a small stain. She can’t see it very well, though, without leaning over the chair. Kyoko notes that the cushion looks pretty awkward, almost as though it doesn’t fit into the seat properly. After a moment of thought, she pulls out the cushion and turns it around, sliding it back into the chair and noting with a touch of smugness that it fits perfectly. Then she turns her attention onto the stain. It’s dark but not dark enough to be blood. She runs one gloved finger over the spot and notes that it’s dry, but it doesn’t look like a very old stain. Her guess could be completely wrong, but this may have occurred recently.

“Momota, come over here,” she calls over her shoulder, and there are footsteps, and then Kaito is standing by her.

“What’s up, Kirigiri?” He asks. “Found something?”

“Yes. I need you to take this cushion to the lab and get this stain tested.” She instructs, pointing out the stain, and Kaito takes the cushion, looking at it for a moment.”   
  


“Isn’t this just blood?” He asks, and Kyoko gives him an annoyed look.

“It’s the wrong colour to be blood.” She remarks, and Kaito chuckles, saying something about how he was just testing her (right) before taking the cushion away. Kyoko sighs, rolling her eyes and getting to her feet. She’s pretty sure the paper weight was used to hit the victim’s head while they were still alive, but she doesn’t think it was the murder weapon. All of this will hinge on Shuichi, though, and what he gets from the garbage.

He’s a good partner. Smart, and reliable. She likes him a lot more than she likes the majority of her coworkers. He’s usually on the same wavelength as she is, almost as though he was designed to become a detective. Just like her. Kyoko shakes her head, brushing aside the thoughts. He’s a good kid, that’s for sure. He rushes back into the room just as she thinks that and then rushes over to Chiaki, perhaps asking her if he can go through the door. The girl obeys, saying something back to him, and he jogs outside, probably going for the trash.

If that’s easiest route to the garbage, then… it makes sense that all the fingerprints on the door would be wiped off. The culprit likely didn’t wear gloves.

Kyoko nods to herself. If the victim was really killed by poison, Maki will be able to tell them as much soon enough. Once they have that information, it comes down to if the poison is on the stain on the cushion, and what kind of poison it is. That should help them narrow down suspects pretty easily. The time-frame for the murder seems to be pretty large, so whoever it is, they definitely don’t have an alibi. And based on the fact that they tried to disguise the murder weapon, the poison might be a tell of some kind.

With those thoughts shelved for later, Kyoko moves over to stand next to Chiaki and wait for her partner. She’ll tell him all of this before everyone else. Chances are he’ll be able to figure out something that she’s missing. That’s one of the good things about having a partner, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the murderer was nagito


	19. Amaguji, Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for my loser brother birdn4t0r
> 
> haha I took so long on this kms

Rantaro gets awfully needy when he’s tired.

Well, alright, the connotations behind the word  _ needy _ … not great. But Korekiyo wouldn’t take it back. It’s  _ true. _

That isn’t to say, of course, that waking up to one’s boyfriend nuzzling his face into your chest is ever a particularly unpleasant experience- it, in fact, isn’t, and Korekiyo would be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy these moments, but it does take a few moments for his mind to process what’s happening.

Their apartment, which is a lot smaller than they could hypothetically afford if either of them were the type to stay in the house so much, is dark. Not even a shred of moonlight is managing to peek through the curtains. Though, to be fair, it’s been pretty cloudy recently. Korekiyo wouldn’t be surprised if it started to rain. But it doesn’t, at least, not that he can tell. The room is familiar, though, and messier than he’d like. Rantaro is extremely scatterbrained. He loses everything, and Korekiyo isn’t a fan of hyperbole, so one can imagine just how airheaded Rantaro can be at times. (It’s an endearing trait though if nothing else.)

In the dark, he can just barely make out the outlines of their belongings. The digital clock on Rantaro’s nightstand is the only source of light in the room. It’s a soft, gentle red light. At first, when they bought it, Rantaro had complained that red light always disturbs him in the middle of the night, but red light, Korekiyo had pointed out, is much easier on the eyes and brain than blue light. Even if it doesn’t feel that way at three in the morning. (And Rantaro shouldn’t even be awake at three in the morning, anyway.)

Speaking of three in the morning, though, that’s exactly what time it is, which Korekiyo knows due to the aforementioned digital clock. That means neither of them has to be up for many hours to come, but it seems that they’re both awake. Perhaps Rantaro has been up for a while, but Korekiyo’s only just opened his eyes to a noseful of green hair. It smells good, like Rantaro’s conditioner, and it’s soft too. He takes surprisingly good care of his hair for someone who travels so much. A low, quiet hum escapes the green-haired man’s throat, and his arms tighten around Korekiyo’s chest.

“Can’t sleep?” Korekiyo murmurs, moving one of his arms to rest it atop his boyfriend’s head. Honestly, this isn’t such an uncommon occurrence, but he figures he might as well ask anyway. Rantaro isn’t exactly sparing with physical affection, but he’s certainly a more… restrained individual than Korekiyo initially expected he’d be. (He’s honestly rather conservative unless they’re alone, and even then he’s a bit iffy on initiating things.) When he’s tired, though, that kind of goes out the window.

“Sorta.” Rantaro again hums in response, tucking his forehead into the junction between Korekiyo’s shoulder and neck, which, well, aww. He’s a bit like a dog, or something. “Also…” he mumbles against Kiyo’s collarbone. “Wanted cuddles.”

“That’s fair.” Korekiyo can’t help but smile slightly, shifting his other arm and wrapping it around Rantaro’s shoulders in a gentle hug. He shuffles a little on the bed to keep his body from getting sore after staying in the same position for so long, eventually ends up turning a bit so that they’re both lying on their sides, legs tangled together between them. It was a struggle getting a bed big enough to accommodate them. They’re both rather tall (though, Korekiyo is taller, which he is understandably happy about) and as much as cuddling like this is nice it can be oppressive at times too, and sometimes he just needs space to lie down without any arms around him.

Rantaro’s been pretty understanding about all of that. The green-haired man is already falling back asleep, his face now across from Kiyo’s rather than pressed against his neck, and Korekiyo watches his eyelashes flutter slightly as he breathes. He’s a good partner. He doesn’t ask for what he needs a lot, which can be infuriating, but it’s worth working through if it means they get to stay together.

It’s hard to see in the dark but Korekiyo finds his eyes going over the light dusting of freckles over Rantaro’s cheeks and nose. They’re a bit faded, because it hasn’t been very sunny recently, but they’re still there. They’re sweet to see, especially in moments like this where Rantaro can’t catch Korekiyo’s gaze and smirk, because they sort of… they’re a bit humanising, to be honest. Freckles are obviously beautiful (as are all aspects of humanity, Korekiyo reminds himself with a wry grin to nobody) and they’re especially lovely on Rantaro’s face, but it’s a bit strange to think about Rantaro Amami of all people having them.

Never a bad thing, though. They are rather lovely. Korekiyo turns his head slightly to look back at his own bedside table, making a face at the mask that’s resting there, folded. Three years dating and he can still only ever take off his mask in the dark, or when they’re having sex. He resists the urge to sigh, knowing Rantaro would immediately wake up and ask what’s wrong, and turns his head back to lean closer and press a light, lingering kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. He’s very patient. It’s something Korekiyo didn’t realise he deserved, before they got together.

There’ve been a lot of things Rantaro has taught him about his self worth, though. The part about not always feeling comfortable with touch, naturally, but other, smaller things as well. It’s taken Korekiyo a long time to grasp that he doesn’t actually have to view everything objectively. Of course, for his work it’s a bit different, because in anthropology if he views things through the lens of a human with emotions he’ll be biased when writing reports, but in his day-to-day life… it’s acceptable to be angry at the woman who spilled her coffee on him in the cafe, or disappointed and frustrated with their friend Kokichi for telling the same lies as he always does.

Not every lesson comes easily, but nothing’s easy, and Korekiyo thinks that’s pretty beautiful in itself. Objectively  _ and  _ subjectively.

He hopes he’s taught Rantaro some of those things too.

“Hey, I can hear you thinking and I’m asleep,” Rantaro mumbles, opening one of his eyes. Korekiyo can’t help but quirk up his lips in a smile when they make eye contact, admiring the sleepy way his green eyes shine, even in the dark.

“You are clearly no longer asleep,” Korekiyo remarks, and his boyfriend scrunches up his face, which draws a laugh from the black-haired man. “My apologies, though. I don’t mean to keep you up.”

“Nah, you’re not keeping me up.” Rantaro smiles a little bit. “I’m awake because I don’t want to fall asleep when your head is still going a million miles an hour.” He leans in closer, rubbing their noses together, and Korekiyo obligingly closes the rest of the distance for a chaste kiss. They don’t do very many of those, partially because Korekiyo doesn’t always feel real enough for them. But he thinks maybe he’ll try to more often. “C’mon, it’s dream time,” his boyfriend mutters against his lips, closing his eyes again.

“...alright.” Korekiyo concedes, because he doesn’t see a point in arguing, and he  _ is  _ tired. He can always think in the morning.

Softly, Rantaro says, “I love you.”

And before he can slip off into unconsciousness, Korekiyo returns. “And I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would commit tax evasion to receive Rantaro cuddles.


	20. Kiiruma, Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one was requested by KingRagnarok. thank u for requesting Kiiruma as they are Veri Good.

“Fuck!” Miu tosses a wrench into the wall, watches it clatter pathetically onto the floor as… wrenches tend to do when thrown. She grits her teeth, because the lack of a dent left in its wake is only serving to make her feel angrier, and looks around for something else to throw. On second thought, though, all of the tools around her are things that she needs, so maybe it’s not the best idea to go chucking things.

That didn’t stop her from throwing the wrench in any case.

She wouldn’t usually be going batshit insane in her lab. At least, not when there’s nobody else around to show off to. But she’s kind of having a rough morning. To begin with, some dumbass in the dining hall (as if she didn’t know) replaced all the sugar for salt after Kirumi put it out, and of course the very  _ same  _ dumbass urged her to put a very generous amount of “sugar” into her oatmeal. Who puts cane sugar in their oatmeal! But Miu is pretty weak willed- not that she’d ever admit  _ that  _ out loud- so after a couple well placed insults she did as the dumbass said.

Not a very good start to her day, if she’s being honest. After that whole thing she decided she needed a mental health day (Chisa will… probably understand) so she’s here in her lab. And that was fine, working on an invention was actually really great for the three and a half seconds before she realised that an  _ extremely important component  _ for one of her latest machines is missing. How is she going to figure out how to make the world’s best strap-on without the vibrating base? (To be fair, when she was asked to make a dildo, they didn’t ask for a vibrating base, but she’s the gorgeous girl genius and she’ll be damned if she made them some sorta half-assed removable dick without some  _ flavour.) _

Anyway, the vibrating base was definitely stolen. And she knows who did it, too. Who else would steal her shit? As if making her take a mouthful of salty oats this morning wasn’t enough… but it’s not like she can just run in there and smack him with her wrench right now. He’s in class! Besides, the fucking shota twink gets injured so often if she tried anything like that he’d probably just die and she just wants to make him feel a bit of pain, not kill him, so… she’s pretty much got nothing to do except sit here and throw tools at the wall.

Besides, she doesn’t even need the wrench right now. Who uses a wrench on a vibrating dildo? Not Miu, that’s for sure. She sighs, wondering if she should work on something else. But her circuits feel kind of fried. She’s not out of ideas, of course not, she’s  _ Miu fucking Iruma,  _ but she’s tired, is all. It’s been a shit day so far and she has way too many hours left of it. Maybe she could just go back to sleep. But she’s not that tired…?

In her frustration, Miu throws a hammer at the wall too. It hits around the same spot, though not hard enough to leave a dent, and clatters on the ground next to the wrench. Right as it stops shaking on the floor, the door opens, and Miu is hit with a wave of instant regret.

“Uh.” Kiibo pauses, concern flashing over his features. “Iruma, are you okay?”

“Huh? Of course I’m okay, I’m great! I’m doing fan-fucking-tastic!” No, she’s not, and Kiibo can probably tell, but he at least has the good grace not to comment. He carefully closes the door behind her, and Miu considers asking him why he’s skipping class, but that’d be a bit hypocritical of her, and anyway, she’s a bit glad to see him. Out of all her friends, Kiibo is definitely the one who’s… the most level-headed, she would say. And he’s really understanding in the worst of moments. She definitely has worse friends. (Case in point: the dumbass who stole her shit.) “Need any repairs?” She asks instead.

“Oh, no, I don’t.” Kiibo shakes his head, and picks up the wrench and hammer that she just threw, walking over to hand them to her. “I just wanted to come check on you, since I noticed you weren’t at breakfast this morning. I thought Ouma’s joke was pretty mean, I’m sorry that he… uhm, did that.” The robot carefully places the tools back on her workstation, pointedly ignoring the dildo pieces that are lying there. He meets her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I’m the one who trusted him, anyway.” Miu sighs, shaking her head, and swivels her stool so she can look at the unfinished invention. “I’m over it. I’m actually pissed at the little shit right now for a different reason.” She’s not exactly  _ over  _ the salt thing, but the thing with the dildo is a much more pressing concern than the oatmeal. That can be dealt with later with a good couple smacks to the head, or she can always ask Gonta to give Kokichi the  _ disappointed Gonta face  _ and revenge will have been had. But she needs that part. “The shota cunt stole a piece of my invention!” She huffs, slamming her hands down onto the desk.

“He did?” Kiibo’s eyes widen. “That’s extremely rude of him, is it an important part? Can you remake it?”

“Well, of course I can,” Miu snorts, offended at the very insinuation that she can’t. (Kiibo manages an apologetic smile and she decides to let it slide. “But it took a while to get perfect, and I can remember what I did, but it’ll still take longer than it should to remake. I should just  _ have  _ the piece. This is a favour I’m doing someone, it’s not like I can just fuckin’ say,  _ hey, your dildo isn’t ready because the local clown-fucker stole a vibrating piece.  _ I mean, what does he even need a- nevermind, I think I know.” Miu chuckles. “He’s probably practicing so that he and Saihara can-”

“Okay.” Kiibo cuts her off, which, fair enough. “Uhm, it seems like an, important project.” She appreciates he’s not being too weird about it- though the whole reason Miu makes those sorts of references in the first place is to incite a reaction. Any attention is good attention, after all. It’s never been like that with Kiibo, though. She doesn’t feel like she has to try extra hard with him to feel alright about herself. And that’s always nice. At any rate, she still doesn’t feel embarrassed talking about the dildo, so she’s glad he’s not either. At least, not outwardly. “I could talk to Ouma, if you wanted, and ask for the piece back.”

Miu considers his words. “I’ll manage,” she tells him with a quick smile. “All the fucker needs is a sad look from Gonta and he’ll repent for his sins. I’ll get it back later.” She pauses, looking at Kiibo for a moment longer. “You can go back to class if you want. I probably won’t be any fun right now.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Kiibo smiles. “I’m actually here on an excused absence! Chisa is very understanding!” He looks so proud of himself… cute. “I came to comfort you, so, whatever you need, just ask, alright, Iruma?” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. Also cute.

He really shouldn’t say things like that, though. Miu’s not as dirty minded as she acts sometimes (it’s a conscious effort to come up with lewd references when she’s not feeling it) but she’s dirty minded enough for her mind to go where it goes when he says that. She decides not to ruin the moment, though, because when she thinks about it, there  _ is  _ something that she’d like. “Whatever I need?” She asks with a brow raised. When Kiibo nods, she pauses, then says, “Uhh, then, would it-” she feels her cheeks warming, tries to banish her embarrassment. “Would it be alright if we… cuddled?”

“Wh-What?” Thankfully, or maybe not, Kiibo blushes too. He doesn’t move away, or anything, in fact he almost seems to lean closer, but he still seems hesitant. “But- I’m not the best for cuddling, you know? I’m- a bit cold, and being made out of metal it would probably be really uncomfortable…” he trails off.

Miu turns her head away, trying to disguise her blush as something else. “I think you’d be perfect.” She says quietly. “F-For cuddling, of course, not a-anything else, hahaha… uhhhhh, so anyway, about the weather-”

Before she can finish, Kiibo leans forward and tucks his arms around her in a gentle hug. It’s startlingly warm, despite what he said, and his touch is very light, as though he’s afraid of hurting her. Miu feels her heart skip a couple beats, and her face rapidly turning bright red the longer she stays in the embrace. She wasn’t really expecting him to go along with it. People usually don’t.

She decides not to ruin the moment, though, and hugs him back, tucking her face into his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dildo was for Angie. she wanted a reference for some art


	21. Oumasai/Saiouma, Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by Lyra. this is a continuation of the ficlet in chapter four :)
> 
> I had fun writing this.

“So, to clarify in case you didn’t get it the first time.” Kokichi clears his throat, looking up at Tsumugi, from where he’s sitting on the floor of her room and she’s sitting on the bed. “If anyone else in our class gets involved in this I’m gonna be really really mad about it and blame you and then I’m burning our friendship necklace.”

Tsumugi hums. “It’d be more like melting, wouldn’t it? Since the necklace is made of metal?” She wonders aloud, and Kokichi hates her for making him laugh when he’s trying to threaten her.

“I mean it, Shirogane, I’ll send hitmen after everyone’s families if they stick their stupid long noses into my business.” He repeats himself, and yeah obviously he’s not sending any hitmen after anybody but he  _ does  _ mean it when he says he doesn’t want anybody else in their class to get involved. It’s not a bad thing that the others in their class know about his crush on Shuichi- except that Maki took him aside and threatened to hurt him if he hurts Shuichi and Korekiyo started sending him articles on how to deal with rejection  _ just in case,  _ he said, which, yikes, Korekiyo, that’s harsh- he just thinks it’s none of their stupid smelly business.

And that trope in fiction where all the characters work together to get two people into a relationship? Yeah, Kokichi hates it. Of course, he thinks it’s cliche and overdone, but that’s not his particular beef with it. More, he just hates the idea that everyone would try to pressure Shuichi into a relationship that he may or may not want. Kokichi really really wants to be selfish about this and just try to annoy the detective into going on a date with him, but when push comes to shove he just wants the other boy to be happy and if that means that they don’t date then he’s willing to take that chance. If Shuichi ends up feeling obligated to date him, Kokichi would hate himself.

At that point the only option is seppuku on live television and  _ to be honest  _ he’s not really a fan of seppuku. Samurai have absolutely no class. They’re pretty much just glorified rent-a-cops except with swords and wives who also have to kill themselves if anything bad happens. Can you imagine! And having a wife, too, of all things.  _ Ew.  _ Imagine being straight.

“I understand,” Tsumugi says, and she sounds really genuine, but he knows from experience that the cosplayer is a really really good liar so he waits for her to give him a tell. “You want the confession to be yours, right? Not anything that anyone else participates in.”

“Well, yeah, dummy, but peer pressure is also-”

“I know, I know,” Tsumugi laughs. “I still like that trope, though.” Kokichi gives her a flat look, and she laughs again, a bit harder, and he wonders if she’s just messing with him. (Unlikely, though, because Tsumugi is also a really big fan of enemies-to-lovers, and they-were-sharing-a-hotel-room-and-there-was-only-one-bed, so it’s highly likely that she just doesn’t have good taste. Kokichi reads crackfic and crackfic only. Because he’s cultured, and all. No slow-burn Fiona/Shrek. Shrek/Donkey is where it’s at.  _ Ogres have layers.  _ Hearts have layers too, and Donkey, you’ve stolen mine.) “Anyway, I’ll tell anyone who’s trying to get involved to back off.”

Kokichi looks at her for a moment, then decides she’s being honest. She doesn’t have any reason to lie about this, he supposes, and she has that smile she always pulls out when she really means what she’s saying. Like the way she smiled when she said that Naruto and Sasuke are soulmates. When it comes to Naruto/Sasuke, Kokichi knows that Tsumugi can be trusted. So he nods at her. “Good. If you break your word, I’m taking your toes.”

“That’s so ominous but okay.” Tsumugi nods too, and though her words imply that she’s unnerved, she doesn’t seem to be bothered at in all, which is pretty normal for the cosplayer.

He wishes the same could be true for himself, though, hours later when he’s waiting inside of Shuichi’s room for the detective to get back from his training with Maki and Kaito. It’s very,  _ very  _ easy for Kokichi to hide all of his emotions at all times, but he’s been trying to be a bit more honest lately, and it hasn’t worked out too well, but he’s trying, and that’s what counts, right? Anyway, he knows that breaking into Shuichi’s room to confess is extremely extra, but Shuichi should have some idea of what he’s getting into if he’s gonna say anything at all.

It’s been so weird, the past several months, letting himself actually get to know the detective. He’s always kind of had a crush on the guy, because anyone who looks at Shuichi’s stupid dumb eyelashes will think,  _ wow, I’m in love,  _ but his feelings have surprisingly only intensified through getting to know him. He’s just- he’s inquisitive, that’s all, and it’s extremely attractive. Shuichi asks a lot of questions. He second-guesses a lot of Kokichi’s statements. And he’s really patient, too, which Kokichi hadn’t been thinking about so much when he initially developed feelings for the guy.

And it isn’t as though Shuichi’s the only one who has patience with him. Tsumugi puts up with his shit, and Rantaro, and Kiibo, and more recently Miu and Gonta, but it’s different than how Shuichi does it. Tsumugi seems very bad at picking up on social cues as a general rule, and Rantaro is like a patient older brother, which is  _ so  _ different than with Shuichi. Kiibo and Miu put up with him but they complain about it a lot (all good-natured teasing but teasing nonetheless) and Gonta is just plain-old nice to everyone. Shuichi’s like… he seems to genuinely want to be around Kokichi. And that just never happens, it doesn’t. Aside from DICE, it’s… not very common for people to want to be around him.

A good example is the beginning of the school year. Kaede and Kaito both thought he was like, some traumatised baby who a little bit of extra attention would fix, so they tried to spend time with him, and to be honest Kokichi had never felt more patronised in his life, even when he lived in an orphanage for a brief period of time. Suffice to say he did not stay friends with  _ either  _ of them for very long. Maki and Korekiyo genuinely don’t like him, and Kirumi puts up with his stuff kinda but she doesn’t really stick around much, and Tenko hates men and Himiko (is a good friend but) says he’s tiring and Angie is really scary all the time and Ryoma probably just thinks he’s really high-strung or something so they don’t spend a lot of time together. Kokichi doesn’t have a very good relationship with the majority of his classmates.

But it’s just, it’s different with Shuichi, and it’s always kinda been, and now he’s here and it’s like, almost midnight, and he’s wondering if maybe he should just leave the room like this and bail on confessing because he likes Shuichi but vulnerability is scary- but then the door unlocks and swings open and Kokichi misses his opportunity to book it, and well, drat.

“Ah!” Shuichi steps into the room, grey eyes wide. And it’s no wonder, because the whole room is covered in flower petals. (Plastic ones, since Shuichi gets really bad allergies to pollen. See, Kokichi can be considerate!) He looks really confused for a moment before his eyes land on Kokichi, sitting on his bed, and then a small, still slightly baffled smile appears on his face, and he crosses his arms. “Uhm, hi, Ouma, what is this…?”

“Well, obviously, I’m declaring my undying love for you, Saihara!” Kokichi chirps, and it’s the truth but he  _ says  _ it like a lie, and maybe that’s why Shuichi just snorts and closes the door behind himself, taking off his hat and walking over to the nightstand to put it down. His hair is messy from wearing the hat all day but it’s endearing. That cowlick is sticking up like always. Kokichi kinda wants to smooth it down with his hands but he can wait on that for now. Shuichi thinks he’s joking or pranking him or something and it’s a problem.

“I like the flower petals.” The detective remarks, bending down and picking up a few from the carpet with a small, playful smile on his face. “I thought they were real for a moment but I think you’re the only one in the class who knows about my allergies so I figured it’s fine since it’s you.” He glances over and Kokichi  _ dies.  _ He knows things about Shuichi that other people don’t? Wow.  _ Wow.  _ Kokichi is really, extremely gay.

“Well, I wouldn’t do anything to harm my beloved!” Kokichi states, and Shuichi shoots him another smile, and his heart does a somersault in his chest, and he has to be serious because this is not going like he planned. “So, uhh, Saihara.” He starts, then hates himself for sounding so awkward. “Did- Uh- I- Did you have fun at training?” That is  _ not  _ a confession, but fine, he’ll work with it.

The detective quirks his brows. “I did, yes,” he answers anyway. “Kaito had us do one hundred fifty pushups. I feel like I’m developing as a person.” It’s obviously a joke but it just makes Kokichi think about how much he  _ hasn’t  _ lied recently and his head sort of spins with the realisation. He still lies far too much but Shuichi hasn’t seemed to mind it so…? Whatever, now isn’t the time for a tangent. “Do you ask for any particular reason?”

“Duh, I’m in love with you,” Kokichi blurts, and then hates how Shuichi chuckles like it’s inside joke rather than getting flustered like he used to when these things are said. This isn’t a  _ bro moment  _ like he has with Kaito sometimes and they’re pounding each other on the back, this is supposed to be romantic, and suddenly it occurs to Kokichi that Shuichi might be straight, and wow he hopes that’s not the case but it might be, huh? He shoves away the thoughts in favour of speaking again. “I mean, I guess love is too strong a word.” He mutters, then adds, “But that’s not a lie, y’know?”

“Hm?” Shuichi gives him a less amused look now, more inquisitive this time, and something else Kokichi can’t decipher at the moment, which is infuriating. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I-” he sucks in a breath, wondering how Japanese works. “I have- a crush- I hate that word, why do we call it that? Makes it sound like you’re a cockroach who I’m gonna step on.” Ew. Bad mental image. Really, Kokichi? “But- whatever- I have feelings for you. Romantically. Yeah. You don’t have to return them or anything, but I do, and that’s the truth.” Okay, now try to figure out how to flee. Kokichi gets to his feet and prepares to run around, because Shuichi is in front of him, but before he can, a hand lands on his shoulder.

There’s a pause, then, “Ouma, I, uhm,” he hesitates. “I know that.”

Kokichi chokes. “What? Sorry?”

“I mean, I knew you had a crush on me.” Shuichi smiles a bit, but his cheeks are reddening, and even though what he’s saying is absolutely  _ mortifying  _ it’s still cute that he’s blushing. “You’re a lot more honest than you think you are, you know.”

Honestly, the leader doesn’t even know what to say. He blinks really hard, trying to clear the fog from his brain, and eventually just waits for Shuichi to speak again.

“You’re very nice when you have a crush on someone, though.” Shuichi looks away. “It would be hard  _ not  _ to return your feelings after a while.”

“...wait.” Kokichi swallows. “So, this whole time, then, you’ve-” he stops. “Wait, what do you mean  _ return my feelings?” _

“As in, I return your feelings,” Shuichi suggests.

“As in,” Kokichi echoes. “You feel the same way?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So, like, it’s like, when I see your face, I kinda just wanna grab it and kiss it, is that something that you also-”

“Ah, I’m rarely that forward, but yes, the spirit is the same.” Shuichi’s lips poke up into a smile and  _ god  _ he’s so fucking pretty but Kokichi’s brain is short circuiting and he can’t really handle it.

“You  _ knew?”  _ He blurts. “And you never-”

“It seems I’m terrible at confrontation.” Shuichi remarks idly, and Kokichi notes that despite the fact that he’s managed to stay calm and avoid stuttering in the conversation thus far, his hand is shaking a little at his side. Slowly, tentatively, the leader reaches out and takes it, and Shuichi squeezes tight when their fingers interlock. “But I planned on saying something eventually. I’m, ah, sorry for not speaking up for so long.”

“...it’s fine.” Kokichi manages, and his throat feels dry, but like, in a good way? “So, to clarify, you  _ do  _ return my feelings? You’re not lying?”

“Why would I lie about something like this?”

“I dunno, views on YouTube- I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

“Well, you can relax, because I don’t have a YouTube channel.” Shuichi smiles slightly, and his blush is so sweet, and Kokichi really wants to kiss him, but that can wait. “I’m being honest, I promise.”

“You double promise?”

“Double pro- nevermind, yes, that.”

Kokichi’s still not sure he believes him, but just like with Tsumugi earlier, Shuichi seems… very genuine about this. And the detective wouldn’t lie about something like this. That’s part of the reason why Kokichi fell for him, right? “I’ll trust you then,” Kokichi says unsteadily. “But I get it if you’re lying, y’know? I wouldn’t date me either.” Oh, that was a complete accident, he didn’t mean to say that. Kokichi berates himself for being dumb. Now Shuichi’s gonna feel bad.

The detective hums, then leans forward and kisses the tip of Kokichi’s nose. (The leader’s soul leaves his body.) His lips are soft, and the gesture is soft too, and Kokichi turns into dust on the spot. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not you, then,” Shuichi smiles, and Kokichi finds himself inclined to agree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouma is gay panic but a character


	22. Shinsai, Unrequited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by droppop :D hope I did them justice, sorry this request took so long uwu

Shuichi’s eyes dart back and forth across the shelf a few times, his hand trailing belatedly behind almost as an afterthought, but eventually he falters and releases a sigh, resting his forehead against the wooden bookcase and closing his eyes. He’s not going to get anything done at this rate, if he can’t even focus on finding the book that he needs. Which is super inconvenient (and also unfortunate) seeing as he seriously needs that book otherwise he’s going to fall seriously behind on his assignments.

Not that that’s not a position he’s been in before. He has. Shuichi isn’t exactly notorious for being a particularly motivated person- at least as far as schoolwork is concerned. But he’s been able to stay on top of things for a while and he’d like to keep it that way. The last thing he wants is for his teachers here at Hope’s Peak to start thinking that he’s an irresponsible student. He  _ isn’t,  _ he’s just unmotivated sometimes, and that’s not even the case this time. This time he’s just… he’s distracted, that’s all.

Distracted by a number of things- the impending climate catastrophe, detective work, take your pick- but namely, well, Korekiyo Shinguji.

His crush wasn’t even a problem when it started. It was just a small thing that popped onto his radar, like,  _ oh, I guess this is happening now,  _ and Shuichi develops crushes like Mahiru Koizumi (a photographer from the class two years ahead of his) develops film, so he was used to all the fluttery feelings and the daydreaming and the smiling like an idiot when he’s addressed by the person in question, and it wasn’t a problem. Not at all.

He felt nervous sometimes, yeah, but Shuichi feels nervous pretty much all of the time so it was incredibly, incredibly easy to ignore.

The only issue is that recently it’s felt like a lot more than a crush. At least in the way that Shuichi’s experienced crushes in the past. He’s been able to deal with it because it was mostly just a rush of endorphins in their presence. His crush on Kaede, for example. He just felt really nice being around her. When those feelings settled down into something more manageable, he was delighted. And more than happy when she started going out with Maki. His subsequent crushes on Kaito and Kirumi were the same. (Though neither of them ended up going out with Maki, the situations were still similar.) Nothing more than a brief period of infatuation. And thanks to that infatuation he was able to get to know the subject of his affection a lot better than he would’ve otherwise. All in all, he was better off than when he started.

So it’s been easy to deal with. But now it’s not because his feelings for Korekiyo are just so much more… incessant than a silly little crush. A silly little crush doesn’t cause his heart to speed up tenfold every time the anthropologist enters the room. It doesn’t make him draw a blank in the middle of class just because Korekiyo looks in his direction. It doesn’t make him smile like an idiot every time he has an excuse to talk to the guy, or think about him. Every time Kiyo wants to talk to him, about anthropology or anything else, he just- he doesn’t like to cuss, but he  _ loses his shit.  _ He’s so interesting, and smart, and detail oriented, and reassuring- and Shuichi is so nervous all of the time but he feels… comfortable, around Korekiyo? Confident? It’s hard to explain in a way that doesn’t sound like a terrible romantic cliche.

But it’s a problem, because there’s no way Korekiyo could ever possibly in the history of  _ ever  _ return his feelings. Shuichi was fine with it with Kaito and Kaede and Kirumi because he wasn’t that invested. He liked them a lot, yeah, but he was accustomed to the fact that he wasn’t really someone good enough for them to like back. So keeping his feelings to himself wasn’t a problem. He knew they deserved better, and was content enough with the fact.

With Korekiyo, he knows that. He knows the anthropologist deserves better, he just- he sort of wishes that he was good enough? And Shuichi figures that’s not possible, because in general trying to be good enough for someone never really does anything or makes a difference, but gosh he still wishes it did.

He can’t get his mind off of it, either.

The thing is, Shuichi’s pretty used to not being good enough for people. (That’s why his parents left, after all, though he tries really hard not to think about that.) If he didn’t get used to it he’d be living an extremely difficult life, and honestly, he’s not. He’s living a really easy life. He’s well-provided for by his uncle and aunt and he even gets to attend the most prestigious school in all of Japan. Not a bad life, in his opinion. Getting used to not being good enough for people, it, well, it sucks, but when it’s a fact of life people tend to get accustomed to it. So he doesn’t mind. It doesn’t bother him when people probably won’t want to hang around him. Or that they’ll probably end up leaving him behind someday- inadvertently or otherwise.

And that’s why it’s so baffling to him that it’s not okay this time. He feels crappy about it, that Korekiyo has no chances of returning his feelings, that’s the truth.

(He manages to find the book he’s looking for and tugs it out with his index finger, noting that it’s rather old and worn. Those are the best kinds of books, so he smiles.)

He shouldn’t. There are plenty of other things in the world to feel crappy about. But the fact is that he does feel crappy about it. And that’s just upsetting, it really is. Shuichi likes to think that he’s at least more mature than that. But he clearly isn’t, if this is such a problem for him.

As he opens the book to the front cover, checking to see that it’s really the one he needs, light footsteps sound behind him and he turns around, thinking it might be the librarian or something. An apology for taking so long forms and dies on his lips, because when he meets a pair of golden eyes, it occurs to him that  _ no, that’s not the librarian,  _ and his heart stops and he curses god for doing this to him now of all times.

“Hello, Saihara,” greets Korekiyo politely, and Shuichi manages a nervous smile, turning around fully and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, out of his face. His hand catches on his neck on the way down and stays there; his fingertips burning into his own skin. Suddenly both of his hands feel really sweaty and his heart is pounding really hard and he hopes that Korekiyo doesn’t notice.

“Uhm, hi, Shinguji,” his voice cracks on the anthropologist’s name and Shuichi kind of wants to die, just a little bit. “What’s- up?” Oh, for the love of god. It wouldn’t be this awkward usually but since he was thinking about it when Korekiyo came over, his thoughts are all scattered. Not the best position to be in when talking to your crush. Shuichi feels like a firetruck.

“I wanted to ask if you were busy. It seems you’re looking for something, though,” Korekiyo gestures at the book and Shuichi hefts it into his other hand, looking down at it with wide eyes.

“Not really- this is what I was looking for.” He says, and it’s the truth, but he still feels a bit silly and desperate, ready to drop everything in favour of interacting with Korekiyo for the half a second this conversation will likely take. “I’m not really busy,” he continues regardless. “Uhm, at all, actually- what is it?”

“Well, it may seem a bit out of the blue, so I apologise,” Korekiyo tucks a strand of hair behind one of his ears, eyes crinkling in what seems to be a bit of a wry smile. Shuichi can’t help returning it, even if his heart is threatening to break through his ribcage. “But I was wondering if it would interest you to accompany me to a museum this evening. They have a new exhibition on a civilisation I visited recently and some of my research is being used in the showing.” He explains. “I would be happy if you decided to come, but if you’re busy at all, I understand.”

“Ah, an exhibit?” Shuichi forgets his anxiety for a moment, his interest piqued. He likes hearing about Korekiyo’s work. The anthropologist, as he already mentioned, knows a lot, and he’s an excellent storyteller. His voice is smooth, low, and has a pleasant quality to it that likens it almost to satin. Shuichi is certain that if Korekiyo were to try, he could simply lull him to sleep. And not out of boredom. Anyway, he’s definitely interested in the museum. “Sure, I’d love to,” he responds without thinking, and then because he can’t help himself he asks, “Have you already invited Amami? He’s back from one of his trips and I think I know where he is right now, so I could go with you to ask after I check this out if you’d like… or you can ask alone, I don’t-”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.” Korekiyo smiles again, but doesn’t elaborate immediately, and Shuichi panics a little.

“You’ve already asked him, then? Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I just figured that since he’s not here that-”

“No, I wasn’t planning on inviting him,” Korekiyo interrupts gently. “Amami is one of my closest friends, yes, but I meant to ask you to come specifically.” The anthropologist pauses. “As a date, rather.”

Shuichi’s throat dries up and his heart stops beating. It actually stops, there’s no other explanation for how much he wants to faint. “A date?” No way. No  _ way. _

“Yes, but, if that would make you uncomfortable, then it can be a platonic affair as well.” Korekiyo shrugs. “I’m alright either way, so long as you feel alright with it.”

No, that wouldn’t make him uncomfortable at all. He just- he can’t believe that- “You’re… really asking me out? Me, of all people?” Shuichi manages, trying not to sound incredulous, or surprised. (Korekiyo gives him a raised-eyebrow look and he figures he should elaborate.) “I just thought- I- well- I figured you were a bit out of my- league.” His voice cracks again. God dammit.

“Why would you think that?” Korekiyo is smiling but it’s a bit misleading because he sounds startled. “Have I not hinted enough that I’m interested in you?”

“No? Yes? Uhm,” Shuichi hesitates. “I had no idea?”

“Do you, perhaps, return my feelings?” God, Korekiyo sounds so amused but it’s obnoxious how nice his voice is even when he’s a bit teasing. Shuichi’s face burns but not in a bad way, not really. His heart is pounding again but in a different way, like he’s almost- butterflies.

“Well, y-yeah, but that’s-” Shuichi stops, then sighs, and laughs a bit, shuffling his book over in the crook of his arm to cover his face with one hand. “Nevermind, just-” he bites his lip and peeks out at Korekiyo through his fingers. “I thought you’d have better taste.”

The anthropologist hums, and steps over, reaching out to take the book from Shuichi’s arms and gesturing for them to walk over to the check-out desk. “I believe I have very good taste,” Korekiyo comments idly, and Shuichi dies (he  _ dies)  _ but not in a bad way. Definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi's type is people with K names so Kokichi, Kiibo, Kyoko... watch out


	23. Ryoma/Kaede: Tennis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by Honeybeegirl94 :D bit of an oddball pairing but I enjoyed writing it nonetheless. Kaede is a ray of sunshine. hope you enjoy!

“Hey, Hoshi!” A backpack drops down in front of Ryoma on the table and he blinks, taken off guard. Slowly, he lowers his book and looks up from the pages, meeting a pair of plum-coloured eyes and humming when he realises it’s Kaede who’s standing in front of him. (He could’ve figured that out from her voice, too- high and sweet and friendly- but the visual recognition settles in long before the audial does.) “Can you show me how to play tennis?”

“What?” Ryoma frowns on impulse, maybe just because what she’s talking about has to do with tennis, but doesn’t mark his page in the book just yet, as he hasn’t yet entirely registered what she’s asking.

“Can you show me how to play tennis?” Kaede repeats helpfully, smiling and leaning forward. A few flyaway strands of her hair dangle in front of Ryoma’s face and he catches a whiff of honeysuckle- she must’ve showered recently, because those strands are a bit darker than usual and the smell is rather distinct. She must use a very particular brand of shampoo. It’s a bit disorienting. Ryoma slides the bookmark into his page, though he’s not necessarily going to say yes just yet, and puts his book to the side as he pulls his hat down in front of his eyes.

“Why would you ask to learn from a has-been like me?” He asks in a low voice, gaze averted. Kaede pouts at him, crossing her arms across her chest in that petulant way that she always does. It never fails at making Ryoma feel as though he’s going to do whatever she asks of him.

“You’re not a has-been. As far as I’m concerned you’re still the Ultimate Tennis Pro and I want to learn to play tennis!” She relaxes into more of a smile, laughing quietly and tilting her head to the side. “Who better to learn from but you, Hoshi? And don’t tell me you don’t have the same skills you used to because that’s obviously wrong! You’re so fast and precise, I bet you’re still amazing at it!”

If she’s trying to flatter him into doing what she wants, it’s… kind of working. Okay, yeah, Ryoma is  _ edgy,  _ but he’s still human, and a pretty girl like Kaede complimenting him… Ryoma curses himself for being weak, biting the inside of his cheek in the hopes of salvaging his pride. “I’m still rusty.” He grunts, but based on the way that Kaede’s lips curl up, she knows she’s won, and Ryoma feels his face warming slightly. Just a little, nothing much and definitely not noticable. Definitely. “You’d do better asking someone who plays regularly.”

“Nobody else at this school has ever played regularly except Momota, and no offense to Momota, but I’m not asking him to help me learn.” Kaede rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “He’s one of my best friends and I love him but he’s so cheesy.”

“No kidding.” Ryoma chuckles, then realises that Kaede has pulled a laugh out of him, and scrunches up his face, like he’s trying to maintain an unhappy expression. (Based on the way that the pianist beams at him, though, he knows it hasn’t worked and curses his entire existence because he’s really going to do this.) “Alright, fine.” He sighs. “I’ll teach you to play tennis. But you’ll have to put up with me being a bit out of practice.”

“Of course!” Kaede claps her hands together, like she’s incredibly happy that Ryoma’s agreed, and he can’t help feeling a bit happy that she’s so happy about it. And then he feels strange, because he hasn’t really felt that way in a while. Would being around Kaede more often make those feelings stronger? He’s not sure, but… he supposes he’s willing to try.

After spending a good couple hours in his lab, Ryoma comes to a conclusion: Kaede isn’t very fast. Her hands are fast, and her reflexes are good, and if he hits the ball directly to her or a little ways a way he doesn’t have to aim directly for her racket, because she’ll be able to catch it. But as far as running over to catch the ball and send it his way, she’s not the best. That’s pretty normal, though. To be able to do that well Kaede would have to be a lot more in shape, and also a lot better at predicting where the ball is going to go.

Which she is, a fair amount, but she could definitely be better. This isn’t to say that Ryoma doesn’t think she could improve. He thinks that, actually, very much- in fact he thinks that if she worked a bit she could be quite good at tennis. But it’s something he notices. And something that he’s hesitant to tell her.

Because… if he’s being honest, playing tennis with her is actually really fun. It’s been ages since he’s really picked up a racket, aside from the arbitrary work on his talent that being a student at Hope’s Peak Academy demands from him. Running around the court to catch some of Kaede’s more wild serves, Ryoma feels his blood coursing through his veins and his heart pounding and it feels… like living. Which he hasn’t felt in a while, since prison.

So he doesn’t really want to critique her strategy very much. When they stop to drink water, though, both of their breaths laboured and their foreheads equally sweaty, Kaede ends up asking anyway.

“Got any tips so I can beat you?” Kaede grins when she asks and Ryoma shoots her a raised-eyebrow look, unable to stop a small smile from forming on his features. “What, you think I came here to lose?”

“I thought I was the Ultimate Tennis Pro.” Ryoma snorts, even though he barely believes it.

“You are, but you should still let me win at least once.” Kaede huffs, and he laughs a bit. “It’s gentlemanly, y’know! Gonta would’ve let me win, like, four times over.”

“Gonta isn’t here right now, in case you haven’t noticed,” Ryoma smirks. “He’s out looking for bugs with his boyfriend.”

“Saihara is definitely perishing right now.” Kaede sighs, smiling to herself and shaking her head. “He hates bugs.” And Ryoma thinks, bugs really aren’t so bad, but it shows dedication that Shuichi is willing to spend so much time looking for them with his boyfriend. “But anyway! What can I improve on? I still want to improve, even if I’d only win if you went super easy on me!”

Ryoma pauses, hesitating because again, he doesn’t want to make Kaede feel bad and ruin the time they’re having together, but… he figures if Kaede wants to hear how she can improve, then he should just tell her. It’s not like she’s going to get offended by it. It’s Kaede. “I would recommend keeping your eye on the ball at all times so you can find a good way to predict where it’s going to go.” He pulls off his hat and uses a towel, which he’s been using to wipe his forehead, to wipe off the back of his neck. “And work on moving over to wherever the ball is. I’ve noticed that you react a little slowly in that area.”

“Hmm…” Kaede crosses her arms across her chest and thinks for a moment. “Got it!” She perks up after a moment, beaming. “Let’s hop back in!”

“Right now, huh?” Ryoma cracks a small smile.

“Of course!” Kaede pouts. “Do you think I’m going to improve at all if I don’t start working right away?” She reaches down and grabs her tennis racket off the ground, passing it from one hand to the other. “Is it my serve or yours?”   
  


She really is determined about self-improvement, huh? Ryoma can’t help feeling a bit warm in his chest as he follows suit, pulling his hat back on and grabbing a ball as he makes his way to the other side of the court. He holds it up to show Kaede that it’s his, and she nods at him, a bright smile on his face. It’s been a while since that kind of warmth has been in his life. It’s a nice feeling, even if it’s a bit unfamiliar right now. He hopes it gets more familiar as time goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man... I sure do know how to play tennis. yup.


	24. Naegiri, Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Bluestar17. another request that took a long time :pp but it's done now!!!

Kyoko fiddles with the strap on one of her gloves, glancing momentarily up at the deep grey shade of Aoi’s eyes. Of course, all of the eyes she sees are grey, because, well, everything is in black and white. But that’s pretty normal. The swimmer, and also her roomate, and also one of her only friends, is frowning- actually, she’s frowning at those gloves, Kyoko politely chooses not to notice, because of course she knows what Aoi is going to say.

“You know,” Aoi starts, then stops. Then, after a moment, she starts again. “You’d have more luck finding your soulmate if you-”

“Take them off?” Kyoko rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But that would get in the way of my work.” She sighs. “You’re really annoying about this, you know,” she points out, rather bluntly, and Aoi smiles at her, so it’s assumed that the girl doesn’t actually care. “Ever since you and Ogami got together.”

“Yeah, well, you’d understand if you met your soulmate.” Aoi sighs dreamily, staring down into her cup of coffee as though she can see something magical in it. And since she can see colour, perhaps she can. It’s not exactly something that Kyoko can fathom, though, since she’s never seen colour before, so she doesn’t really care. She drinks her own coffee, pleased at how the bitter flavour spreads over her tongue. It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure of hers but she actually really likes sweet things; always has. It’s only been recently that she’s really grown fond of bitter things. “It’s different when you can see colour.”

“You’re right.” Kyoko says flatly. “I’ll go around touching people with my bare fingers  _ right now  _ to see if they happen to be the one person I’m mysteriously linked to by my soul.”

“Okay, maybe don’t do that.” Aoi laughs. “I’m just saying. You should let go once in a while, you know?”

“Sure.” Kyoko looks down at her watch, pulling her sleeve up a little to see it more clearly. “I’ve got to go. Work.” She explains concisely, getting to her feet and grabbing her coffee. She starts to walk away, but since they’ve discussed this, she stops and glances back over her shoulder, meeting Aoi’s gaze. “Bye.” She says, still not sure why she has to do that.  


The swimmer smiles at her. “Bye, Kyoko.”

Kyoko waves over her shoulder, then turns and heads out of the cafe. It’s pleasantly chilly outside; the cars rushing by add to the slight breeze, though at the cost of the loud sounds of them zooming down the road and the faint scent of gasoline that makes her hairs stand on end. She opts to ignore it, starting down the sidewalk and glancing at her watch. She’s got enough time to, conceivably, not be late. Though it doesn’t really matter if she is late, considering that, her boss is her father. And her father is a moron but he’s remarkably lenient. Perhaps one of the reasons why he’s a moron.

Still, she likes to be there at least semi-on time so that she can actually get some work done. Kyoko tunes out the world around her and stops at a crosswalk, drumming her fingers on her leg as she waits for the light to turn green.

A man steps up next to her, waiting as well, and though his eyes flicker over to her once or twice, he doesn’t say anything, which is nice of him. He’s young, Kyoko thinks, around her age- his hair is fluffy and a bit of a mess and his tie is crooked. What she can’t help noticing is the fact that there’s a tag sticking out of the sleeve of his suit jacket.

Now Kyoko wouldn’t ordinarily care about a thing like this but for some reason right now the sight of it grates on her. She glances at the man again, sees he’s still oblivious, a weird optimistic smile on his face as he watches the cars go by, and finally Kyoko sighs.

“Your coat has a tag on it.” She points out, and he looks at her, eyes widening as though he hadn’t realised she was speaking to him. Which is stupid, because there’s nobody else at the crosswalk.

“Me?” He asks regardless.

“No, I meant the light.” She replies.

“Oh, okay.” He looks away. Kyoko groans, and he jumps, like he just realised something. “You were being sarcastic!” He accuses, but he doesn’t seem that offended or anything, just a little embarrassed. Kyoko sighs.

“Yes, I was. What made you come to that conclusion?” She asks, and he laughs this time, which is a really sweet and musical sound but Kyoko forces herself not to think about that because he’s clearly not very bright, which means a no from her. He looks at his coat sleeve, realising that the tag is in fact there, and yanks it off, shoving it into his pocket.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice.” He tells her, and she figured as much. “It’s a new jacket, I just got it this morning from my sister. I like it a lot more than my last one, so I thought I’d wear it today.” Honestly, too much information, but she supposes it’s more endearing than it is truly annoying, so Kyoko refrains from cutting him off. “I’m Makoto Naegi, by the way. You didn’t ask, but I thought I’d tell you anyway. Sorry, that was- extremely awkward.”

Kyoko smiles a little despite herself. It’s definitely endearing. “Kyoko Kirigiri,” she introduces, even though she doesn’t see much of a reason to. This is nothing more than a useless interaction; she’s never going to see him again. He extends a hand to shake, and she reaches out and takes it, because she sees no reason not to, but then the light turns to say go so she releases his hand to start moving across the street.

She’s part of the way across the crosswalk before Makoto yells out, “Kirigiri, hold on!” and a hand closes around her wrist, yanking her backwards just as a car speeds by. Her heart races, and she swallows hard, trying to register what just happened. That car clearly sped through that light illegally- it definitely wasn’t allowed, since their light is very obviously red…

Wait, red?   
  


Kyoko blinks, looking up at the stoplight, and feels a bit disoriented, because there’s a burning hot passionate colour replacing the dark red that used to glow there. She turns her head and looks back at Makoto, who is still holding onto her wrist, where his fingers have managed to touch her bare skin, and his eyes are wide and fixed on her, as though he doesn’t know what to say.

After a moment, he breathes, “You’re beautiful.”

And honestly, what an absurd, cliche thing to say, but Kyoko’s face warms a little anyway. She grabs his wrist as well, pulling him over to the other side of the sidewalk, because they’re still standing in the middle of the street.

“Sorry,” Makoto apologises. “I just- I saw the car coming, and- wow, everything is in full colour now, does that mean- do you-”

“I’m going to call my boss.” Kyoko interrupts him. “And tell him that I won’t be present for work today. I suggest you do the same.” She pauses, and wonders why she’s even saying that. Work is obviously more important than this soulmate business. But Makoto’s eyes are a beautiful colour, still grey but a bit green too, and she finds herself wanting to look at them for longer. “We should talk.”

“Yeah.” Makoto manages to say, and then smiles at her, a dopey smile like his head is muddled, and the way he’s looking at her makes Kyoko feel a bit flustered. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish Kyoko was my soulmate.


	25. Makoto/Aoi, Donuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another one requested by KingRagnarok. very cute ship and very cute request, though I was a bit iffy on the consent aspects of it so I changed the request juuuuuust slightly to make it a bit more to my liking. hope this is still at least partially what you had in mind :D
> 
> remember kids, always ask permission before kissing somebody!

“I mean, yeah, I could identify any donut by taste.” Aoi shrugs. She knows it kind of sounds like she’s gloating, but over something like this? Honestly, not a big deal. Besides, it’s  _ true.  _ She has a passion for the pastry that is unmatched by anyone. It’s pretty easy to tell what flavour a donut is, and for someone who eats them all the time… yeah, she could totally do it. She could do it in her sleep. (Wouldn’t that be an absolute riot?)

Makoto glances at her, an eyebrow raised. He has a small, mischievous smile on his face, and the look, even though it doesn’t exactly bode well, makes Aoi smile too. It’s nice seeing him be a little playful. Makoto is so painfully sincere that at times she really worries that any kind of banter would hurt his feelings. But he’s pretty good at recognising it for someone who’s so genuine. “Could you do it with your eyes closed?” He asks.

“Duh.” Aoi crosses her arms, pouting at him. “Do you think I couldn’t?”

“No, it’s not that at all!” Makoto sits up, from where he’s lying down on his stomach on her bed, and quickly shakes his head. That’s exactly what Aoi was talking about, being worried to banter with him, but he cracks a smile a second later and she drops the concerns immediately. He’s probably just messing with her. “I’m just wondering how good at it you are.” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I test you?”

“Test me? How would you test me?”

_ Famous last words, _ Aoi thinks later, when she finds herself sitting blindfolded in the dining hall. They turned one of the chairs to face outward so Makoto has an easier time. It’s not that embarrassing- though she’s a little worried she’s gonna make a dumb face or something with her eyes closed and have no idea about it. It’s Makoto, after all, so things should be fine, but… she just hopes that no upperclassmen walk in during this little experiment. She can only imagine how weird it would be to watch something like this without knowing the context. It’ll probably be fine though.

“No peeking,” Makoto says, and Aoi scoffs.

“My pride is on the line, you really think that I would peek?” Aoi asks, and she hears him laugh; a light, fluffy sound that sounds a bit like a bell and floats past her ears as he moves over to the other side of the table. With the salmon-coloured blindfold wrapped around her eyes she kind of has to rely on her other senses for everything, and she’d be lying if she said it’s not strange. The blindfold smells vaguely dusty, probably because they got it from the warehouse, and the faint scent of tomato soup wafts in from the kitchen. Probably Teruteru and Kirumi (a third year and a first year respectively) working together on dinner. The tomato soup smells rich and warm and pleasant, though the smell isn’t so strong that it muddles Aoi’s head.

She’s gonna need her sense of smell for some of the harder donuts, after all.

As for her hearing, it’s a lot sharper than usual. Makoto is wearing sneakers, just like she is, and she can hear them padding against the tile in the dining room as he shuffles around. She hears the gentle crease of him opening the donut box, and then smells the sweet sugars and icings that come from that. Aoi inhales deeply, feeling herself smile at the familiar scent. Makoto knows all her favourite kinds, so he probably chose donuts with those in mind- she doesn’t even know where he went to get them, because he wanted this to be as hard as possible. For science, apparently. But she thinks, based on the smell of the dough, she knows where he got them. Her favourite shop, actually; a small one not far away from the school.

Makoto is sweet like that, maybe sweeter than the donuts in a way. He remembers small details about people. Aoi especially, which is strange because she doesn’t typically expect people to remember those things about her. He’s a kindhearted person and a good friend. That’s probably one of the biggest reasons why she agreed to do this experiment in the first place. If it was someone like Yasuhiro asking,  _ no way, Jose!  _ She doesn’t trust Yasuhiro as far as she could throw him, and she can’t throw him very far.

“Are you ready, Asahina?” Makoto’s voice sounds again, and she notices the rich, higher, almost boyish quality to it. For some reason the familiarity makes her heart feel soft. “I have the first donut.”

“I was born ready.” Aoi says immediately. She hears shuffling, the rustling of Makoto’s sweatshirt, and then smells something fresh and sweet, like morning dew, and assumes he’s leaning in close to her. His finger, a bit sticky from the donut but still soft, taps lightly against her jaw, and she parts her lips. When the donut slides into her mouth, she takes a bite, and it’s retracted. After chewing for a couple moments, Aoi makes her decision. “Maple bar.”

“That’s right!” Makoto praises, sounding impressed. As if maple bars aren’t super distinct. Aoi smiles though, because she’s definitely sure now that he got these from her favourite shop. That was so nice of him. Makoto is probably the sweetest guy in their class. “Here’s the next one.”

Obligingly, Aoi opens her mouth, and when she takes another bite, she decides, “Old-fashioned.” Makoto’s responding hum tells her that she was correct, and she can’t help smiling. Old fashioned is dry and crumbly; always leaves her tongue a bit dry. But she likes it for what it represents. Besides, old fashioned goes best with other sweets, because it’s not quite as sweet as other donuts so it can act as a good middle point. She can appreciate it since other people who don’t like sweets so much can still enjoy it.

The next one is a raspberry jelly donut, the jam sweet against her tongue, and then a powdered donut which she thinks for a moment will have some sort of filling but it seems as though it doesn’t, and then one that’s cream-filled with chocolate frosting, and a regular chocolate donut with sprinkles. Presumably rainbow sprinkles. Makoto is only giving her a bite of each of these, so she figures she’ll get to eat them all after they’re done, when her blindfold is gone and she can see them again.

After Makoto slides a donut hole into her mouth, and she calls that one an easy round, he stops, and for a moment Aoi sits there, waiting for him to say something, but all she hears is the sound of him breathing.

“Are we done?” Aoi asks, uncertain as to why he’s suddenly being quiet. “Should I take off the blindfold now?” She reaches up to touch it, and Makoto jumps beside her.

“Wait, wait, not yet. There’s one more.” He sounds nervous tough, and Aoi’s hands freeze. What’s he have to be nervous about? “Uhm, this one is a little… uh… d-different.” One of his hands brushes against her cheek, tender, a gesture that makes her heart rate speed up a bit. She’s not sure if she knows what he’s insinuating but she  _ might  _ and if she does… Aoi swallows hard. “But only if you’re okay with it.” His thumb bumps against her earlobe and she shivers a little bit. His hand is  _ really  _ soft and it’s kind of distracting.

She definitely thinks she knows what he’s saying though.  _ Makoto, you smooth bastard,  _ she thinks, but swallows again, because she’s one hundred percent okay with it. “Y-Yeah, that’s fine,” she stutters out, and there’s a moment of silence, and then the sound of shuffling, and then something soft and sweet presses against Aoi’s mouth. A lot different than the donuts, but sweet still, and warm. It’s pulled away a moment later, and Makoto’s hand retracts, and over the sound of her racing heart Aoi hears him settling down some ways away from her.

Unable to take the quiet, she yanks off her blindfold to see that Makoto is covering his face with one hand, blushing heavily. It’s obvious what just happened, and Aoi has never been kissed before, but… it was really pleasant. And it was from Makoto too…

She clears her throat. “I didn’t quite get that one,” she manages. Makoto looks over at her, startled. Aoi feels her cheeks start to burn, but continues anyway. “I think I need another taste.”

Makoto seems to swallow hard, but smiles, shyly, and Aoi finds herself returning the expression. “Okay,” he says faintly, and this time, when he leans in, she leans in too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hina is like 1001% a lesbian but this ship is still adorable af imo


	26. Angie/Shuichi, Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by notmary... oh notmary you secret unknown person show me your tricks you master of disguises

Angie’s always been something of an early riser. She likes to be up before the rest of the world, likes sitting outside in the crisp morning air and feeling the breeze on her skin and watching the sky turn brilliant warm colours before settling down into a cool, relaxed blue. She likes it because it feels like a transition, a rarity, something mellow that occurs between two extremes. During that time there’s no one who she has to pretend for, who she has to keep smiling for. She can stand out on her balcony and stare at the tops of buildings and houses she doesn’t recognise, doesn’t identify with, and she can spread her arms and feel the wind and pretend the dirty air she’s breathing in is the clean air from her island. She can pretend that if she falls backwards she’ll be caught by all her loved ones back on the island, rather than the hard floor of the balcony.

It’s a time that she can’t really capture in paintings. Sunsets and sunrises feel basic, yeah, and Angie supposes she can paint them well enough, but she can’t get the feeling just right. Usually when she sits down in her chair and stairs at a blank canvas, her hand is guided by her heart and she knows all the right colours to dip into and where to put them. She’s been told in the past that she can invoke feeling with her works. The right feeling, usually, the one she was aiming to.

But not with the sunrise. It’s an emotion so unique to her experience that it’s hard for her to express. Angie is far from a tidy person by any stretch of the definition but that doesn’t really explain the fact that her apartment is scattered with failed attempts at replicating that feeling. They’re everywhere, and so is the peach coloured paint that she’s used copious amounts of in doing so. Nowadays she knows the exact ratio of yellow to red to white that she needs to create the colours she wants. How many swirls of her trusty paint brush she needs to make the colour perfect. She even knows where she wants each colour to go, how she wants to place them, the way she wants them to look.

Every time she tries, though, she knows it isn’t quite right. And Angie doesn’t know what she’s missing.

Not that it matters. She doesn’t try to enjoy the sunrise so that she can paint it. She enjoys the sunrise to enjoy it, because it’s her favourite time of day. Angie can’t see the ocean from her apartment, but she dreams that someday she’ll get a place where she can. An apartment, a house, a shack for that matter- she just wants to see the sun sparkling from its reflection on the deep blue water. She wants to see all the pretty colours the water turns at dawn. She wants to smell the salty air and dive into the water fully clothed. As things are now, all she can smell is exhaust. And Angie doesn’t hate anything, but she really does hate this.

This morning Angie pads out onto her balcony barefoot. It was a particularly chilly night, and that cold is still lingering in the air, but she’s pretty good at ignoring low temperatures. Goosebumps rise on her arms and legs and she runs her hands down over her body as though she’s greeting old friends. Angie tries to treats herself like a goddess. Worshipping her own body gets tiresome from time to time, but it’s nice in a way too, to constantly feel like she’s spoiling herself. This is the only time of day when she can really do it, anyhow. Most times she’s trying so hard, in her career as a therapist, to cater to other people. Make them feel better. Talk about their emotions and dreams and aspirations and all their problems too. It’s a job that Angie loves. But not one where she really gets to love herself.

Or stop smiling, ever.

She seats herself on the chair that she put out her and tugs a blanket over her shoulders, pulling her knees into her chest and gazing outward at the sun. It’s just begun to touch the horizon; a single thin streak of yellow is has started to appear with it. Angie feels a smile spread over her face. She falls asleep sometimes, watching the sun rise like this, but it’s warm and pleasant and not a bad time to be sleeping. Most other people are. Most times Angie is trying to be better than other people, to be someone who they can aspire to or learn from. But right now, when no one is watching, she doesn’t mind if she slips back down to their level. This way there’s no one who she can disappoint. Except herself, but she doesn’t even mind that much.

To her left, Angie hears the creaking of a door and watches her neighbour, a young man who she barely knows, step out onto his balcony. He seems dead on his feet; his skin is pallid and what of it currently has colour only emphasises how pale he is. There are bags under his eyes and his dark hair is a mess. Angie straightens up a little bit, because they’ve never really spoken before but sure, she knows the man, and she doesn’t want to lose her facade around anybody, not even him. What’s his name again? It’s a bit embarrassing for her to have forgotten… he works in law enforcement, doesn’t he? Angie searches his attire for any indicators. He’s wearing a black sweater and jeans, though no shoes or socks, and there’s a cell phone making a small rectangular box in his pocket. One that his hand drifts to on occasion, even as he rests both his forearms on the railing on his balcony.

If he just got home from work, which seems to be the case since he’s dressed but still looks like a mess, he’s probably in uniform. That’s far from a cop uniform, though, so what is he-  _ oh!  _ That’s right, he’s a detective. Saihara is his name, Shuichi, Angie believes is his given name? She’s spoken to his uncle, and also his employer, on a number of occasions. Namely because the man wanted her to tell him about someone who he was investigating, and also who was one of her clients.

(Angie, of course, refused, as she’s not allowed to do that. Even if she was, she still wouldn’t budge. She’s a therapist. She respects the privacy of her patients. The elder Saihara was understanding, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come back. The guy is persistent. Angie can respect that.)

Still, now that she recognises the tired man on the next balcony over, she figures she should speak to him, so he doesn’t suddenly become aware of her presence and fall off the balcony in shock. “Good morning!” She calls out, and the man jumps, but thankfully he does not fall. He turns, blinking his tired grey eyes at her like he’s having a hard time processing her being there because he’s so fatigued. To help him out, Angie sits forward on the edge of her seat, smiling at him. “Did you just get home from work?” She asks.

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters, then looks around before his gaze falls back on her. “Am I, uhm, hallucinating?” He asks, which is a very silly thing to ask, but Angie just tilts her head to the side.

“Why would you be hallucinating? We’re neighbours, aren’t we, Shuichi?” She asks, and he blinks again, like she’s confusing him.

“But… I think I would remember if I saw someone so…” he trails off, then his face flushes a little, which Angie would feel worse about if it didn’t bring a little colour back to his pale face. Really, he needs to get some sleep. This clearly isn’t healthy for him. “Nevermind, uhm… you’re not a hallucination, then?”

“I think I would know if I was something like that.” Angie promises, and gets to her feet, moving over to the edge of the balcony and leaning over the railing to speak to him better. “I assume you don’t remember my name, then?” Her smile takes a shift for the teasing, and Shuichi blushes again, which is honestly really sweet. He seems like a nervous man, although that might be the sleep deprivation talking. (He should invest in a new career, one where he doesn’t have to work through the night.) “I’m Angie,” she introduces herself, but doesn’t bother saying her surname. If he really thinks she’s just a hallucination, he probably won’t even remember her name later, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, she’d much rather be called Angie than Yonaga, or whatever people feel inclined to refer to her as in this country.

“If we’re neighbours, have you always lived in this apartment complex?” Shuichi inquires.

“I’ve been here a fair amount of time, but not forever.” Angie smiles, resting her elbows against the railing. It’s cold, and kind of digs into her skin, but not a bad sensation. “Two or three years, maybe.” She pauses. “You moved in about a year ago, of course.”

“Ah… that’s right, I remember you now.” The detective smiles, like he’s just solved a case, and well… cute. “You stopped by when I first moved in and gave me a painting.”

“That’s right. White walls are very boring.” Angie nods sagely. “You looked like you could use something to spice the place up.”

“I had forgotten that you gave it to me.” Shuichi admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I pass it in the living room every day and it… makes me happy seeing it, but I can never remember who it was I got it from. Did you paint it?” Angie hums out an affirmation and he makes a face at her like he’s impressed. “Your artwork has a very… pleasant effect.” He decides upon after a moment, and moves over to stand closer to her, against the railing that’s across from hers. “I don’t have any other paintings or decorations in my apartment.”

“Well, that seems very dull.” Angie tells him genuinely. “I intended the painting as a first decoration sort of thing. You were supposed to add more afterwards.”

“How have you lived here next to me for a year and I haven’t noticed?” Shuichi asks, as though he hasn’t really been thinking about the conversation at all so much as he’s been thinking about that concern. Angie blinks at him, not responding, and he releases a breath. “I suppose that’s a stupid question. I’m never around, and when I am around I’m usually working.” He sighs. “My apartment isn’t a very pleasant place to be so I try not to be there. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any decorations.”

“Uhm, that might not be entirely the reason,” Angie starts, though she’s not about to go into therapist mode because she’s not working right now and she thinks Shuichi is cute so she’s definitely not looking to make this interaction like that. “But I think it’s definitely part of it.” She looks back at her balcony and remembers that she hasn’t tried painting the sunrise in a while. The sun is almost up in the sky, now, the first hints of blue beginning to shine through. “How about this. I’ll paint you something else, and you can put it up.” She turns around and smiles at the detective. “And in return, you spend more time at home so you can stop forgetting I exist.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “A-Alright,” he agrees after a moment. “Should I pay you for the painting, then? Paint is expensive, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Angie assures him. “Just worry about being at home more. And, also, sleeping.” She gives him a more knowing smile than her usual one, reaching across the gap between them to swat his shoulder. Shuichi looks a bit surprised by the contact, perhaps because he still thought she was a hallucination, but a small smile spreads over his features anyway. “You look dead on your feet. I think you should shower and go to sleep.”

“You’re probably right about that.” He chuckles quietly.

Despite this they end up talking for a while longer anyway until Angie’s feet get numb in the cold and the sky has turned a deeper shade of blue than Angie will usually stick around for. Shuichi eventually goes back inside, because he does seem really tired, and Angie follows suit, remembering as she steps back into the heat of her apartment that she likes the warmth a lot more than the cold. But when she was talking to the detective out there, she didn’t really feel very cold. It takes her a moment to coax the smile from her features, and as she pulls a sweater on over her head, Angie realises she wasn’t faking it.

With that thought in her head she walks into the living room, where her easel is still set up, and flips the canvas to the blank side. It’s not sunrise anymore but the image and the feelings are still fresh in her head. As she starts to paint, she loses count of the brush strokes and the colour theory and focuses on the warm fluttery feeling that’s spreading throughout her body. She doesn’t get up until she’s done painting, and it’s time to go to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so gay for Angie Yonaga


	27. Rantaro/Tsumugi, Normie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by Isabellag9705 :DDD I had fun making fun of my best boy

Tsumugi wonders sometimes how she ever sunk so low.

Last week she woke up in the morning to see that she’d gotten a trophy for best comment on Reddit and, as any logical fandom person would do, went to find her boyfriend and tell him.

Rantaro’s response was to blink at her, expression blank, and ask what Reddit is. It’s easy to forget that he’s a normie sometimes because he’s so fun to be around- he’s really adventurous so going new places with him is a bit like an adrenaline rush. Besides, and Tsumugi isn’t ashamed to admit it, he’s tall and strong and he has warm arms so he’s comforting to come back to after a stressful day. Plus, his smile… yeah, she’s smitten, and it would be a problem if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. But he does, so that’s not an issue.

The issue is that, as previously stated, he’s a normie. Rantaro doesn’t really  _ get  _ memes- maybe because he doesn’t spend a lot of time on the internet in the first place- and he likes normie things. He even almost bought a hydro flask, though thankfully she managed to stop him before he was arrested for vsco girl crimes.

It’s almost like dating a basic white girl, except, obviously, Rantaro isn’t white, or a girl, and he doesn’t really use any social media so he can hardly be called basic either. Tsumugi blames it on the fact that he travels so much. He knows a lot about the world, he just doesn’t know very much about… the world that Tsumugi is more interested in. And he can’t really be blamed for that- so maybe he doesn’t have the same taste for escapism as she does, it’s not exactly his fault- but it’s still frustrating.

“What are you thinking about?” Rantaro’s voice cuts into her thoughts and Tsumugi blinks, remembering after a long moment that she’s eating breakfast in the dining hall and he’s sitting across from her, a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. She glances down at her cereal, where he was looking, and sees that the milk has turned pink from the fruity pebbles being in there for so long. They’re probably all soggy by now, but she takes a bite anyway, offering Rantaro a small smile. She’s not the type of person to get embarrassed over these kinds of things.

“You,” she replies honestly, and he gives her a wry smile, perhaps detecting that that’s not as romantic an assertion as it would be from somebody else. Tsumugi watches him tilt his head to the side, as though expecting her to elaborate, and laughs a bit into her cereal. As if she of all people is susceptible to the puppy dog eyes. Even when he flutters his eyelashes at her. Tsumugi would have to be weak to give in to that kind of expression. Thankfully, he lets up after a moment, because he knows how difficult it is to embarrass her, and delicately places his toast back on his plate.

“Anything you’re interested in sharing with me, or are you just going to let that statement hang in the air without elaborating?” He asks, quirking one of his brows, and Tsumugi smiles pleasantly. “Fair enough, okay.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

He has a nice laugh. Low and rich. If Rantaro was a character in a romance novel, he’d definitely be the mysterious romantic interest. He’s handsome enough to pull it off, and wealthy too, so that’s definitely not an issue. Tsumugi finds herself a bit surprised from time to time at how genuinely not-flirtatious he is. He says things that can be misconstrued sometimes, sure, but when he realises the insinuations of such comments he usually gets embarrassed.

It’s as funny as it is sweet. Tsumugi is weak for cliches, of all kinds, but the fact that she’s actually not in a relationship with a rich-boy stereotype is constantly refreshing. Plus, it gives her more reassurance that he’s devoted to her. Not that she’d blame him if he was disloyal or anything. Anybody would probably be liable to cheat on someone so plain as she is. (As the thought crosses her mind, Rantaro reaches across the table and laces their fingers together, and she smiles vaguely at him, despite being distracted by her own musings.)   
  
That would make for a good story. A beautiful boy falling in love with a plain girl. Tsumugi hates that she keeps thinking of things that way, in fact would like to recognise the beauty in the real world rather than constantly being absorbed in fiction, but even when bad things happen her first instinct is to think about what that would look like on paper. She’s always been a sucker for tragedy. It’s a tendency that makes her feel a bit icky inside, so she’s never told anyone about it. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism of sorts, but it’s not like she has much to cope with, so she thinks it’s more that she doesn’t really know how to relate to other people, so she just gets absorbed in her interests and uses those as a means of communication.

Definitely not the best way to connect with strangers. But at least Rantaro’s here anyway.

She never would’ve anticipated that she would end up dating a normie, though. Earlier this year when she crushed on Kaede, she figured nothing would come of it because despite the fact that Kaede is beautiful and kind and hardworking, she happens to be a huge normie. Just like Rantaro, actually. And her crush died down eventually- specifically when Kaede and Miu started going out and she realised that Kaede’s rescuer complex would probably be something that keeps her from developing feelings for the cosplayer.

Yet here she is. Three months into a relationship with the Ultimate Normie, Rantaro Amami. Tsumugi supposes, if she’s being generous, that he makes up for it by being kind. He even watches a lot of her anime with her- though he hasn’t seen enough to pick up on finer details or appreciate it when certain shows deviate from the tropes. It doesn’t really matter anyway. Tsumugi’s not dating him for his anime knowledge.

“You must be thinking about something pretty important this morning, huh?” Rantaro asks, and she knows he’s teasing, but Tsumugi can’t help wondering about it anyway. His smile isn’t hiding anything; he’s not going to try and pressure her into speaking to him if she doesn’t want to. Still, though, there are certain things that she wonders if she  _ should  _ tell him.

Idly, Tsumugi asks, “You know that you’re a normie, right?” And Rantaro’s lips curl into a smile but he seems to banish it from his face in the name of trying to pull a more offended expression, pouting at her. Which also looks painfully adorable, but whatever, Tsumugi resolves to ignore that.

“I watched way too much Naruto with you last night to accept that.” He points out, and that coaxes a giggle out of Tsumugi, because he did watch a fair amount of Naruto last night. (Not enough, though. Never enough Naruto.)

“You’re not even fully a normie,” Tsumugi sighs. “Because you don’t even have Instagram.”

“I travel too much to keep up with social media.” Rantaro purses his lips at her. “But if you want me to get Tumblr, or whatever it’s called, I can do that.”   
  


Tsumugi considers the offer. For someone new to the internet Tumblr might not be the best place to start. It’s a bit like a cesspool. Besides, now that she thinks about it… “No.” She shakes her head. “Stay the way you are.” She loves him for the fact that he’s a normie, even if it is frustrating sometimes. Rantaro smiles at her, and she feels a small creeping feeling of embarrassment in her stomach, but manages it to squash it down in favour of smiling back at him. He’s not allowed to know that he flustered her, or else he’ll never let her live it down.

And Tsumugi supposes she loves that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rantaro only uses YouTube and he uses it to watch beauty tutorials so his sisters won't come for his bones.


	28. Ryoma/Gonta/Shuichi/Kaito, Introspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Nono,, we're gonna pretend like you didn't request this over fifty days ago

Ryoma honestly thought that it would be overwhelming at first.

He’s never really considered himself to be a huge open-relationship kind of person. Actually, the prospect of being in a relationship in  _ general  _ was pretty intimidating after what happened to his last girlfriend, so he admittedly didn’t have very high hopes jumping into this one. It was weird falling for anybody at all, much less three people, and when they were all discussing it he was pretty sure that it just wasn’t going to last.

(Because sometimes things don’t last. Because it’s asking too much for people to stick around him. Because Ryoma can’t handle large groups of people in small doses, much less all the time, all around the house.)

But it… hasn’t been like that. Maybe if he was dating three Kaitos, it would be different, but he’s not. He’s dating a  _ singular  _ Kaito, which is honestly more than enough Kaitos for him, as well as a singular Gonta, and a singular Shuichi. (The wording there is strange but he’s just going to role with it.) Shuichi and Gonta are hardly as loud as Kaito is, or as assertive, or as  _ in your face  _ kind of positive, and it’s nice to have them there to balance out Kaito’s, uhm, abrasive tendencies.

Not that any of Kaito’s tendencies bother him. They did, once, back before they were close, back before Ryoma had any semblance of self respect- and it’s obviously still a struggle- but admittedly the astronaut has grown on him. What once used to make him tired and annoyed has somehow turned into a weird, soft kind of validation that he’s kind of come to need in his life. Nowadays when he goes to sleep at night he can’t do it without at least an hour of training hard with Shuichi and Kaito (as well as Maki, who isn’t always there because she’s a busy person, but it’s still nice whenever she  _ can  _ make it) because without that hour of sweating hard he finds that his body just won’t shut off.

It’s a bit annoying how Kaito’s always up before the sun, singing obnoxiously loud as he makes eggs and pancakes, but Ryoma doesn’t mind being an early riser. Gonta gets up early too but he always goes on runs, maybe because he wants to go talk to all the bugs that are out at the crack of dawn, so it’s usually just him and Kaito in the kitchen during those times, because Shuichi could probably sleep through an earthquake. He’s rarely up before noon unless it’s a work day. In all honesty Ryoma kind of cherishes those moments when it’s just him and Kaito and the smell of food cooking, because Kaito will quiet down when there’s no one else around for him to impress, and he’s good for conversation like that.

Kaito is also usually in bed pretty early, and he sleeps a bit like a bulldog. Usually curled around a pillow or something if there’s no one in bed for him to spoon. Ryoma thinks that he could get into the habit of going to bed right after training, of getting a good nine or ten hours of sleep, his back pressed against Kaito’s chest, but if that were the case then he would miss out on one of his favourite times to talk to Shuichi, which is late at night when Gonta and Kaito are fast asleep.

Shuichi is certainly quieter than both of their partners, but he’s also quite a bit more insightful in a lot of ways. He’s definitely a night owl, which is something that Ryoma has noticed because his smiles are always so much more vibrant past midnight. It’s odd being in a relationship with someone so similar to him. Even before all the tragedy with his family and his depression and everything happened to him, Ryoma was generally pretty sobered in disposition. His girlfriend was all sunshine and ukulele songs by comparison. She balanced him out, in a way, with her contagious cheerfulness and her sunny laughter. Ryoma always finds himself attracted to people like that. With infectious positivity.

But Shuichi isn’t really that kind of person. He’s not pessimistic like Ryoma but he’s also not particularly optimistic. He’s more the take-life-as-it-comes kind of person, with quiet smiles and nods of acceptance. He spends so much time listening that he has a lot to talk about, Ryoma has found- at least, in a way that a lot of people don’t understand. Shuichi is the sort of person who would happily be a ghost writer, if it meant that his work was being shown to the world without other people looking at him all the time.

He is, also, really great for a hug. Sometimes he’ll quietly needle Kaito, often while they’re all talking and taking up space and Shuichi is just there reading a book, a tiny little mischievous smile on his face that says he feels comfortable enough to make fun of his partner, and Kaito will respond with loud indignation, but also with love. It’s warm and comfortable and Ryoma really appreciates it because he’s not sure he’d be able to survive in a relationship without a little lighthearted poking fun. Not that he needs to make fun of his partners to feel safe, or secure, but he does think that it says a lot for a relationship that they can tease each other without anybody being really hurt.

In a sense, though, Ryoma is pretty sure he wouldn’t be comfortable dating Shuichi or Kaito at  _ all  _ if not for Gonta. It isn’t that Kaito and Shuichi’s relationship makes him feel invalidated or insecure or anything, because it’s pretty common knowledge how much they care about each other but Shuichi and Kaito are extremely good at showing their affection for other people, but it can be admittedly a little hard to compete with at times. Ryoma tends to self deprecate, a fact which he’s been trying to hide from but has found as of late that he really can’t, and without Gonta he’d probably be stuck in his own head all the time, convinced that he’s intruding.

But Gonta just has this thing that makes everyone feel comfortable and safe around him. It’s hard to explain. Ryoma could be having an absolutely terrible day and Gonta could just ask if he wants to look at some bugs and then all of a sudden everything is all good again. It doesn’t always work, of course, because sometimes the sad vibes are simply too overpowering, but more often than not Ryoma finds himself smiling without even realising it and then trying to squash down the expression because he has a reputation to uphold, god damn it.

If it was anyone else other than Gonta, Ryoma is pretty sure that that wouldn’t be possible. But Gonta is just such a genuinely sweet and (basically perfect) person. With most people in the world he can find some sort of flaw, some reason to say,  _ well, alright,  _ but it’s pretty much impossible with Gonta. Gonta is just- he’s kind, and he makes Ryoma feel  _ real  _ sometimes when that seems pretty much impossible, and he’s so much smarter than he thinks he is, and it just… it’s absolutely baffling that Gonta wants to be with Ryoma, but Ryoma can’t complain because it feels right in a way he’s never known before.

All of that aside.

Ryoma needs to get up soon, because he has classes today, and he’s not going to get his psyche degree if he misses his classes, but considering that he’s got Gonta on one side of him, an arm around his waist, and Kaito on his other, arms sprawled out underneath them so that he’s holding Shuichi, too, on the edge, Ryoma isn’t sure how realistic of a goal that is. He glances at the clock. Seven in the morning. Of course today would be the one day when Kaito doesn’t get up early.

He shoots the man in question a glare but finds he can’t really put any energy into it so he lets it go.

His best bet is probably Gonta, because he’s the lightest sleeper here, and will definitely let him up the second he’s awake because Gonta is smart and also extremely conscious of the people around him so he’ll probably know exactly what it is that Ryoma needs to get up for, but one look at his partner’s peaceful sleeping face tells him that there’s not a chance.

He really  _ does  _ need to get up though. He doesn’t want to be late, and he’s been awake for a while so now is as good a time as any to-

In his sleep, Kaito murmurs something, turning his head towards Ryoma and cuddling closer. He’s just a goddamn dog or something, Ryoma swears.

_ Fine,  _ he thinks. He’ll miss classes today. Ryoma closes his eyes again, grumbling in his mind, cursing boyfriends who he loves and the fact that their bed is extremely comfortable (though definitely not made to carry four men, two of whom are six feet tall or over). He’s definitely not going to think about the fact that even if Kaito was awake, he’d probably be going back to sleep anyway. It’s one class, and he feels safe right now. He’ll email in sick and text his friend Toko for the day’s notes. It’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryoma is lying to himself skipping class is a problem but y'know what mood


	29. Mahpeko, Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by vivian. tysm for your patience lmao

Peko opens the door to the dojo, peering inside to see if there’s anyone practicing right now. It’s not that it bothers her when Tenko and Sakura are around while she practices; actually, she likes the company, though she’s admittedly not always much for conversation. She and Sakura attended the same school prior to going to Hope’s Peak so though they interacted very little while they were there, it’s nice to have something in common with the younger girl. Plus, she’s quiet and strong and someone who Peko genuinely admires. They have a similar disposition, in her opinion.

  
As for Tenko, well, she’s a nice girl, for sure, though she is rather high-strung. She’s kind of nice to practice with anyway because she’s so strong.

At any rate, at the moment, Peko is kind of looking to train alone. Fortunately, when she looks in, it appears that the dojo is empty. She slips in, kicking off her shoes before she steps on to the tatami, and pulls her sword off of her back as she walks over to one of the lockers, where she knows a couple training dummies are stored. She hasn’t been in here specifically to train in what has felt like a long time, though she’s sure it’s hardly been more than a couple weeks. If she gets invited to help someone train, that’s a little different, but it feels like it’s been ages since she’s gone out looking to get some practice in.

As Peko begins setting up the dummy, she wonders why she hasn’t visited the dojo in what’s felt like an eternity of sorts. She’s been busy, of course, but she could’ve made time if she wanted to. Maybe it’s the fact that she hasn’t that’s had her so high strung this week. (Peko stands up the dummy, testing that it’ll stay upright when she starts to practice on it, before she begins unwrapping her sword.) Training like this, especially alone amidst the smell of cherry blossoms and tatami, helps clear her head. All physical activity sort of has that effect on her, really. It’s just calming.

Once the dummy is set up and she has her sword out and at the ready, Peko widens her stance, carefully positioning the sword so that she has a clear shot at the dummy’s neck. Ideally, she’d have a partner to practice with who’s also wielding a sword. It’s difficult to really improve when she doesn’t have an actual opponent. But that would kill the purpose of coming here alone.

If Peko really wanted a training partner, she probably could’ve asked Hajime. (She laments as much as she strikes the dummy, dancing over to its back in less than a second and going in for another hit.) He’s got every talent, after all, so he’d keep her on her toes; though Peko is confident that she could beat Hajime if they went head to head. As much as she doesn’t doubt the validity of all the talents that he has now, things like this, where one is constantly having to practice and learn in order to improve their technique, can’t really be handed over via surgery. Even if you know the moves, it’s impossible to execute them well without muscle memory. Not only that, but there are certain ways to move your body that are learned through experience rather than knowledge. Hajime could be an expert on Kendo and he still wouldn’t be able to take Peko down.

After all, she specialises in this, in work with her sword, and she’s improving constantly because it’s the one thing that she focuses on. Hajime is good, but she’s certain that she’s better.

Even though she was expressly trying not to, Peko strikes the dummy so hard that it tips over, knocking into the tatami mat, and she takes a quick break to catch her breath. Going fast like that always makes her breathing incredibly laboured. Peko wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead, smiling to herself and adjusting her glasses. It feels good, doing this. It’s a really good way of venting her frustrations. She puts her sword to the side and walks over to put the dummy back up, rolling her shoulders and trying to loosen the muscles there.

In the past, when she’s studied Kendo, she’s done it out of a place of wanting to get stronger, so she could protect Fuyuhiko better. He’s her best friend, after all, and practically her brother. Plus, it’s her duty to be good with her sword so that she can protect him, and carry out his wishes as best she can. But this past year has been sort of a wild ride for her. For them, actually. She’s been trying to sort out a lot of things about their relationship, and about herself, too. Her own self esteem.

As a result, she’s been finding herself coming back to the sword more and more. Peko nudges the dummy with a socked foot to put it back into what she considers prime position before moving back over to pick up her sword again. She’s caught her breath by now, so it’s as good a time as any to-

The door to the dojo opens, and Peko glances over her shoulder, silver braids whipping around with the quick movement. She’s half expecting Tenko or Sakura, though the two of them are probably spending time with their girlfriends today, because it’s a Sunday and they don’t have classes, but instead the girl who sticks her head through the door has red hair, and Peko raises her eyebrows when she meets Mahiru’s gaze.

“I thought I’d find you here! It would be a lot easier to locate you if you carried around your student handbook, y’know.” Mahiru smiles, walking into the dojo, and Peko notices that she’s not in uniform today. (Of course she’s not; it’s Sunday.) Instead, she’s wearing an olive green t-shirt and jean capris, as well as a pair of sandals that call a bit of attention to a couple friendship bracelets she has tied around her right ankle. Peko recognises the bracelets because several of the girls in their class made them together one time, and as a result Peko has a couple on the nightstand in her room, because all of the girls ended up getting some in the end. Mahiru is also carrying her camera, which is unsurprising, because she’s the Ultimate Photographer, and there’s a thin braid in her red hair, going back to her ear.

In response to her comment about the student handbook, Peko shrugs. “I didn’t bring it with me because my plan for today was to train.” She explains softly, resting her sword on her shoulder. She doesn’t move, though, instead allowing Mahiru to walk over until she’s standing a couple feet away. “It weighs me down if I have things in my pockets.” Not that she doesn’t train sometimes with things in her pockets; best to be prepared in case Fuyuhiko is ever attacked while they’re spending time together in a casual setting. Right now, though, she’s just trying to unwind. No need to train with things inhibiting her unless she’s trying to improve in that area specifically.

“That makes sense.” Mahiru replies, nodding. She hums, fiddling with her camera for a moment, and then meets Peko’s gaze, a small smile on her face. Her eyes are green, a very pretty colour, actually, just like her shirt. They seem a bit nervous, but they’re sparkling too, and it makes Peko want to smile. “Hey, would it bother you if I was in here taking pictures of you while you trained?”

“Hm?” Peko raises an eyebrow. Not that it surprises her that Mahiru wants to photograph her training, necessarily, it’s more that Mahiru usually likes candid shots, so she typically won’t ask first before snapping a picture. Either way, it’s not something that would make her unhappy, she supposes. “I don’t mind. Why are you asking?” She tilts her head, assuming that Mahiru will understand her meaning. Based on the way the photographer’s freckled cheeks redden slightly, Peko figures that she does.

“Well, you know,” Mahiru fidgets with her camera again. “I’ve been working on asking first. Consent is important in all areas, y’know? Also, uhm, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You especially, Pekoyama.” She mumbles that last bit, appearing slightly flustered, and Peko raises both of her eyebrows. It’s difficult for her to read Mahiru’s disposition right now, but… the way that she’s fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, speaking softly… it’s pretty cute, either way.

“I’m not uncomfortable with it.” Peko assures. “I’m afraid I won’t be very good for conversation right now, but if you’re alright with that then I don’t see why not.” She moves her sword off of her shoulders, giving Mahiru one last glance as she gets ready to start on the dummy. “We’re classmates, aren’t we?”   
  


“R-Right,” stutters the photographer, her eyes wide, and Peko smiles to herself as she turns back to start training again, pretending she doesn’t notice the way that Mahiru’s blush darkens. (She also pretends she doesn’t hear the click of Mahiru’s camera every time the other girl takes a picture, and tries to immerse herself in the training, because she wants those pictures to be as good as they can be, for whatever Mahiru wants them for.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like Mahiru Koizumi to take pictures of me that'd be nice


	30. Naegiri, Pre-Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Vandalia1998
> 
> i know, it's been (exactly) four months since you requested this. i'm sorry, i have no excuses. this was literally buried in one-shots that i didn't have to be working on but was instead of doing this.
> 
> REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED.

The dorms are quiet.

A mere fifteen minutes ago the space was full of sounds-- of footsteps, luggage being dragged, the sounds of conversations, goodbyes, final laughs exchanged before the vacation… but now the noise has died down, leaving only the haunting feeling of an empty space in its wake.

Makoto stops walking for a minute, taking a knee to tie his shoelace. He’s the only one here right now, he’s pretty sure, unless Aoi and Sakura are still talking in Aoi’s room, but it doesn’t make much of a difference to him. They’re going to leave on their own time. He could check on them, if he wanted too, as he’s hardly in any hurry. His mom won’t be here to pick him up for another five minutes or so. But he doesn’t see much of a point in intruding on them. Sakura and Aoi are closer to each other than they are to anyone else in the class. There are probably things that they want to talk to with each other right now that are more important than anything that Makoto could bring into the conversation.

He straightens up again and grabs his suitcase, dragging it along with him as he finally exits the building. The sun is shining overhead, but since spring has only just started, the air still has a bit of a bite to it, and the trees are all mostly bare. Makoto likes this weather though, because he’s traded his Hope’s Peak uniform for his old hoodie and several t-shirts, and layering like this would make him really hot if the temperature was as high as it will be later this season. He stretches his arms over his head for a moment, and lets a smile cross over his face.

It’s not like he’s leaving Hope’s Peak for forever; it’s only spring break, and then he’ll be coming back all over again for second year. He’ll have all the same classmates, and the same homeroom teacher, and he’s not sure that very much can change over a couple of weeks. Still, all the goodbyes just now held in them an air of finality. It’s hard to describe. Something about all the hands he shook and the people he hugged made him feel like it was something that was never going to happen again. But maybe that’s just first year ending getting into his head. There isn’t much use for all the sentimentality. He has all of their phone numbers, so he could even call them if need be.

The sound of heels clicking on the pavement some feet away breaks Makoto from his pondering, and he turns his head, wondering who’s walking in his direction. He’s half-expecting it to be a reserve-course student, or someone who he doesn’t know in general, but instead, he meets a pair of pale purple eyes, and finds his smile widening.

“Kirigiri, what are you doing still here?” He calls out, cupping one side of his face with his right hand. Kyoko glances at him, though it’s obvious that she noticed him standing there earlier, and closes her eyes briefly, her expression as neutral as always. It’s difficult for Makoto to discern whether or not she’s actually pleased to see him, because she’s so… like that, but after a year together as classmates, he should hope that she’s grown a bit more fond of him! At any rate, she doesn’t respond until she’s next to him, and then she stops, her eyes opening again.

“I had some business to attend to with my father.” Kyoko explains, with a tone of mild annoyance, and Makoto figures that the emotion is probably directed towards her father, also known as the Headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy, and not him, so he doesn’t stress out about it. “I’m heading home now.” She adds, glancing off to the side, and Makoto’s smile softens. She wouldn’t have added on anything like that, with anything even resembling personal information, in the past, but they’ve gotten closer throughout the year.

Or at least, Makoto thinks they have. At the very least, Kyoko won’t just turn and walk away in the middle of his sentences anymore. Nowadays she’ll hang around until he’s finished talking, and then shut him down with a word or too before disappearing around the corner. He’s learned not to take it personally, though. Kyoko is a busy person, and her social skills leave much to be desired. He likes her anyway. It’s how she is, and she’s one of his friends, so he has no reason not to. “Are you walking? Do you leave nearby here?”

“Yes.” She answers, and Makoto pouts at her, waiting for her to specify which question that was an answer to, but she doesn’t, so he has to ask her to clarify. When he does, Kyoko shrugs her shoulders and says, “I don’t live extraordinarily far. It’s a comfortable walking distance for me. My grandfather would pick me up, but he’s busy at the moment.” Her tone is very vague, though whether that’s because she doesn’t know what her grandfather is doing, or because she would rather not say, Makoto can’t really tell. “It’s not a problem for me.”

“Uh, you’re,” actually, on second thought, Makoto thinks it would be kind of rude to cite the fact that Kyoko is wearing heeled boots as a reason why she shouldn’t walk. She wears those things every day. Right now she’s wearing a purple jacket and skirt, one that he recognises because he’s seen her wear it before, but she’s never changed the heels. They’re probably just hers, nothing to do with the Hope’s Peak uniform. Not that Hope’s Peak Academy has a very strict dress code, but Kyoko wears the uniform. It doesn’t seem as though she’s carrying any luggage right now, and there could be any number of reasons for that (perhaps she doesn’t care much for bringing all the stuff back home when she’ll be returning in a few weeks) but the important thing is that it’ll be nothing more than a stroll. It doesn’t feel right to just let her walk, though. “Are you in a hurry? My mom could drop you off at your home.”

Kyoko gives him a very careful, calculating look. “Are you offering so that you can figure out where I live?” She asks with no inflection, and Makoto startles, waving his hands in front of himself in defense.

“No! No, no, I wouldn’t ask for something like that,” he protests in a rush, shaking his head furiously. “I’m just, y’know, my mom will be here soon and it won’t be any trouble but if you don’t feel comfortable with me knowing any of that stuff, then I don’t mind if you--” She cuts him off with a giggle, muffled because she covers her mouth with one gloved hand. Kyoko doesn’t laugh often, but he’s seen it before, once or twice. She’s only ever laughed in his presence while they’ve been alone, though, so either he’s the only one she trusts enough to laugh around, or she doesn’t feel comfortable being even slightly vulnerable in large groups. He’s betting on the latter, though, because as much as he really likes Kyoko he doesn’t think he’s done anything extraordinary to gain her trust.

“I’m teasing you,” explains the detective, in response to Makoto’s incredulous (and extremely anxious) expression. She laughs a bit more into her hand, looking as though she’s just been reminded of something she finds very amusing, but then relaxes again, her expression returning to something more neutral. The shine in her eye remains, however, and she lowers her hand to her sides. “And that… would be appreciated, Naegi.”

Ah. Makoto had gotten so distracted by the (teasing) accusation that he forgot what they were talking about. He offered her a ride home. After promising to thoroughly berate himself later for forgetting-- though while embarrassing the fact that it slipped his mind is also understanding, considering how pretty Kyoko’s laugh is-- he refocuses and nods. “Okay. My mom won’t mind, she drives people home plenty.” He promises, despite the fact that Kyoko didn’t ask. She raises her eyebrows at him, but cracks a very tiny smile, and then they lapse into a comfortable silence, standing next to each other on the sidewalk.

He likes this. When the school year first started, things were far from this comfortable between the two of them. Kyoko’s manner is so brisk, and she doesn’t see much of a point in pleasantries, which can make conversations with her either extremely boring or extremely exciting, depending on what the topic is. If he ever tried to engage her in small talk, she would simply give him a flat look and walk away before he finished talking. It made her stick out in his head, that’s for sure. He’s not even entirely certain when things started to change between them. Maybe it happened when he started asking real questions when he wanted to receive real answers. At any rate, it’s nice. Peaceful. And Kyoko is great company, when he doesn’t feel super nervous around her, which has been known to happen on occasion.

“Oh,” Makoto says, suddenly remembering. Kyoko glances at him. “My mom will probably ask you a lot about yourself during the drive, by the way-- I know you don’t like that stuff, so I thought that I’d--”

“It’s fine,” Kyoko interrupts plainly. “I don’t mind. As long as she isn’t asking me about my childhood trauma.” It takes Makoto a minute to realise that she’s being ironic. When he looks at her, she shoots him another one of those crooked smiles, and his heart actually  _ flutters. _

“R-Right,” he nods quickly, and Kyoko shakes her head, a breathy laugh escaping her.

“There’s a lot of pressure to become someone new next year,” the detective remarks, without any preface. “Since it’ll be our second year at Hope’s Peak. Improvements and all of that.” She looks at him full-on again, her expression entirely serious. “But if you want my opinion, Naegi, I don’t think you should change at all.”

His throat dries out, and suddenly Makoto finds that he doesn’t know entirely what to say. He clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm, and manages to stammer, “Th-Thank you, I-- you too.” And the smile he gets in response makes him want to pass out on the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want kyoko to smile at me


	31. Komahina, College AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Gladepanther, another request fulfilled four months later... ;w;
> 
> i'm not too proud of this one. :(
> 
> anyway, REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED.

Nagito didn’t have very many friends. 

He found himself to be an insufferable person, both to spend time around and just in general, and he was pretty sure that most people agreed, which would be a pretty good explanation as to why. He didn’t mind so much; he liked being alone anyway because it gave him time to think, but it could, admittedly, be pretty lonely at times. Even if he didn’t blame other people for trying to avoid him on account of his general… insufferable… ness.

He wasn’t expecting that to change when he first came to the campus library, and honestly, at that point, it didn’t. (People didn’t generally go to libraries to make _friends,_ after all, and that wasn’t why he was there either. He was there to hide from the perpetual din that was college.)

But there was a boy his age sitting behind the counter, boredly flipping through a textbook, and Nagito couldn’t help but stop cold. The boy was probably doing an assignment for one of his classes. He (as in Nagito) felt rude staring, but he couldn’t help noticing that the boy had different coloured eyes; one was red, a vivid, burning red, and the other a piercing, albeit bored and a bit flat, green. There was a crease between his eyebrows, as though he was annoyed and upset, and he kept drumming tan fingers on the counter before him like he was desperately in need of a distraction.

After a moment he seemed to sense Nagito’s eyes on him, and so he looked up, a single eyebrow quirking. “Can I help you find something?” He sounded irritated, and Nagito felt inclined to apologise for staring, but he resisted the urge for just a moment. When the other boy sat up straighter, Nagito noticed the presence of a nametag clipped to his shirt. His given name was _Hajime._ All of a sudden it occurred to the white-haired boy to wonder if the other boy thought he was staring because of his heterochromia, and not because he was rather striking in appearance.

“Uhm, yeah,” Nagito lied quickly, pretending he wasn’t experiencing gay panic in his place. “I mean, yes! Yes. Yeah. Uhm, can you tell me where to find-”

In his panic, Nagito ended up blurting the title to a gross American book-series about BDSM, and Hajime showed him to it, with an expression of great displeasure the entire time. Afterwards, the other boy turned around and promptly returned to his textbook, which was, in Nagito’s opinion… completely understandable.

The next time they saw each other, things went a bit better. Nagito came back, because of course he did, and this time Hajime wasn’t doing homework, but was instead chatting with another person who was checking out a book. (Someone Nagito recognised because they were in the same major, one Makoto Naegi. A very nice guy. He said hi to Nagito on the way out.) As Nagito slid the book he was returning across the counter, Hajime gave him a careful look.

“Your name is Nagito, huh?” He asked curiously, probably having heard it when Makoto said it, and set about scanning the book so that he could return it to the book cart that was sitting behind him.

“That’s me,” laughed Nagito, and he had to consciously stop himself from self-deprecating over how nervous he sounded. “I’m surprised I made an impression.”

Hajime gave him a weird look. “We have the same arithmetic class,” he remarked. Nagito felt embarrassed for not noticing. (Even though the lecture hall was huge and that class was totally packed with people.) “And not a lot of people come in here asking me directly where to find their kinky Twilight fanfiction.” His striking different-coloured eyes flickered down to the book that Nagito had just returned. “Which, uh, this isn’t, I can’t help noticing.”

“No, it’s not,” Nagito agreed. “I, uhm, found it wasn’t to my liking.”

“I should hope so.” Hajime grinned at that, and his eyes were suddenly way prettier than they were a moment ago, which should’ve been impossible, and the room rose in temperature at least four degrees. “Let me know if you need any more help, okay?”

The next time he stopped by, Hajime was reshelving books, so Nagito went almost the entire visit without talking to the guy.

It was only on the way out that Hajime stopped him with a, “Oh, you were here today,” casually tossed over his shoulder. Nagito glanced at him, halfway out the door, and offered a smile and a wave. “You didn’t check anything out this time.”

“I’m still not done with the one I grabbed last time,” Nagito explained. He didn’t want to mention why he was in the library anyway, because he was still coming there to hide, so he simply added, “I wanted to see if I could find the other books in the series, though, because it seemed really good.”

“Any luck?” Hajime asked.

“Aha, no. I think I wasn’t looking hard enough.”

“Hm.” Hajime seemed thoughtful. “Well, have a good rest of your day.”

It was stupid to be keeping his reasoning for visiting the hotel under wraps so determinedly. He didn’t think it would be embarrassing if Hajime found out-- if anything the other guy would probably be pretty understanding about it. Libraries were just straight up good places to hide from the world.

The smell, for example. The scent of old books, slightly mildewy, slightly dusty, slightly warm… comforting and familiar and real. And he liked the smell of new books too, the crisp, crinkling smell and feeling they had underneath his hands. He liked curling up in the corner of the new arrivals section, choosing a random book off the shelf, and reading through it amidst a handful of comforting smells. Sometimes someone would enter the library with a coffee, or a tea, and that scent would waft past him, and those scents were equally pleasant, if not more so, because they were unexpected.

He didn’t just like the scent of course; he was rather fond of the seats in the library too, either the pale wooden ones with the big squishy cushions or the beanbag chairs scattered throughout, and he liked the way the sunshine streamed in through the windows on the warmer days, and he liked the way that the shelves were arranged, so that stepping into a new section of the library felt much like stepping into another universe. He was a big fan of books in general, but the setting in which he found them made them much, much more pleasant to read.

It was almost stupid how secretive he was whenever he was speaking to Hajime. It wouldn’t have killed him to be honest once in a while. Nagito thought about it on and off throughout the week, and didn’t return to the library until a bit later.

When he did come by again, Hajime wasn’t there at all, but Nagito found a stack of books on the counter underneath a sticky note with his name written on it in hiragana*. It was the rest of the books in the series that he was reading, as well as another one on the bottom, with another sticky note that said, _“thought you’d enjoy this one too if you like these. -H”_ and nothing else.

Nagito was initially hesitant to think of it as a friendship, because he didn’t want to be presumptuous, but one morning Hajime stopped him on his way out of the library after popping by with coffee and donuts one morning on his way to his first lecture.

“I don’t see you around campus a lot. Do you and your other friends hang out somewhere else?” He sounded casual, as always, but that time Nagito noticed a not of nervousness in Hajime’s voice, perhaps because of the nature of the question he was asking. Still, Nagito couldn’t help but notice the use of the words _other friends._

Still, it reminded him that Hajime technically didn’t realise Nagito came to the library to hide. So instead of saying that he didn’t have a lot of other friends, he offered a vague smile and said, “I have a lot of other hiding places,” before heading out the door.

One morning, on a day when Nagito didn’t have classes, he headed straight to the library, wanting to get some homework done. His mistake, though, was choosing one of the beanbag chairs to sit in, because as soon as he got settled into it, he sank down into the softness of the chair and fell asleep right away. When he woke up again, there was a blanket over him, and a sticky note on his forehead that said _coffee?_ in Hajime’s handwriting. (Obviously, when Nagito found him, he said yes.)

So he had a friend, at that point. Hajime wasn’t like anyone Nagito had met before. At times it seemed like the other boy was picking up on the things that made him insufferable, and then Nagito would get convinced that Hajime wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore, but then he’d return to the library and see the other boy sitting behind the counter, and different coloured eyes would lift and a smile would form on his face and Nagito’s voice would crawl back into his chest. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all, to have a friend, but Nagiot had had enough friends at least to recognise that the fluttering feeling in his chest that he got whenever Hajime smiled at him wasn’t exactly a _friendly_ kind of feeling.

Not that he minded, but it was something he thought he ought to address at some point, with himself.

After what felt like one particularly busy week, Nagito came to the library right as Hajime was closing up, several books tucked under his arm. When he showed up, Hajime spared a smile, erasing the whiteboard near the entrance.

“Turning stuff in?” He asked. When Nagito nodded, he gestured for the white-haired boy to pass, and so he did. “I haven’t seen you this last week, have you been frequenting other hiding spots recently?”

In truth, Nagito had been trying to name the feeling he kept getting in his chest so that he could come back to the interactions without feeling odd and disjointed. He hadn’t had much success, but the books were due. He shook his head, anyway. “I’ve mostly just been thinking.” He responded. It was nice that Hajime knew about his hiding spots. It felt personal in a way that was hard to replicate with other people. “The library is my favourite hiding spot, so I try to come back as often as possible.”

“I’ve kind of noticed,” Hajime said with a grin. Nagito returned the smile with slightly less enthusiasm, and Hajime finished with his task, walking over to take the books from him. Instead of turning to scan them, though, the other boy placed them down onto the counter. “I like it when you come by. It makes things a lot less boring around here.”

“Is it usually boring?” Nagito couldn’t imagine being bored working in such a nice place. He liked the library. It made him feel comfortable in ways that other spaces around campus couldn’t. And he’d be lying if he said that anything Hajime was involved in could ever possibly be boring. (An absolutely wild thought to have all of a sudden but still the truth.)

“Sure it is.” The other boy replied with a shrug. “I like the quiet, of course, but there isn’t much to do once you get used to it. It’s not like I can spend all my time reading. I like talking to you.” Ah. Nagito tried not to let it show on his face how embarrassing it was to hear that. “And, y’know, I-” suddenly Hajime broke off, raking his hands down his face. “Ughh, sorry, this is so stupid, I don’t even know how to say what I’m trying to say.”

Nagito, who wasn’t aware that Hajime was trying to say something, raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Oh, that’s alright, I-”

“No, I need to-” Hajime looked conflicted. “Chiaki warned me that if I didn’t think out everything I wanted to say that it would go poorly, but I didn’t think it would feel this uncomfortable.” He seemed to be talking to himself, so Nagito didn’t respond, but he honestly didn’t think there was anything uncomfortable about this. It sucked that Hajime was uncomfortable, though, so he wondered if there was any way that he could fix that. “I’m trying to ask you out, Nagito.” Hajime eventually blurted, his hands still covering his face.

Now, Nagito didn’t think of himself as a particularly inarticulate person, so he figured that he’d be able to come up with a pretty good response to the words that just came out of Hajime’s mouth. “Huh?” Not a good response, Komaeda what the hell.

“I should’ve had a better lead-in,” admitted Hajime, despite the fact that Nagito’s confusion was not the result of a poor lead-in, but rather the fact that he simply did not know how to respond. “What I was trying to say is that I like talking to you, and spending time with you, and I really want to get to know you better and maybe kiss y- nevermind on that last one,” Hajime’s face flushed, and Nagito couldn’t help smiling, despite the fact that his own felt like a fucking radiator. “I’m talking too much now and fucking everything-”

Before Hajime could continue, Nagito reached out and grabbed his wrists, tugging his hands away from his face. The other boy made a noise of surprise, but didn’t say anything, perhaps on account of the fact that Nagito had leaned across the counter to kiss him.

Worth noting: Nagito had never kissed anybody before, he kind of just did that on impulse, and Hajime seemed to be in the same boat, because the result of their lips touching was pretty… anticlimactic. And honestly not all that pleasant. It was warm, though, and that was nice for a fraction of a second before Nagito pulled back, his face burning, and released Hajime’s wrists.

There was a moment of silence.

“Uhh,” Hajime looked embarrassed. It was difficult to see the flush on his more tanned skin, but Nagito was sure that his entire face was lit up like a stoplight. “Wow, okay, do you-”

“Yeah,” Nagito interrupted. “I do.”

Another one of those awkward silences, and then Hajime cracked a smile. “That was pretty awful, are kisses really like that?” It made Nagito laugh, covering his mouth with one of his hands.

“Maybe not if you actually know how to do it, but I admittedly don’t have a lot of experience on the subject. There aren’t a lot of people out there who are all that eager to kiss me.”

“You’ve got to stop saying things like that,” Hajime muttered, his brows furrowing. “It makes the less attractive people of the world feel terrible.” It took a moment for it to register in Nagito’s head what exactly Hajime was saying.

“Look in a mirror!” He retorted, fanning his face with the hand he just used to cover his mouth.

“You should really talk,” Hajime snorted, shaking his head, but then his expression relaxed again into something softer. “Is that a yeah, then, to going out sometime?”

“Of course it is.” Nagito replied, running a hand through his hair. “Only if- uh, if you really mean it. I should warn you that most people don’t like spending time around me. Like, by choice. And all that.”

“Well,” Hajime shrugged his shoulders. “ _I’m_ not most people, so I think everything is going to be just fine.” He picked up one of the books that Nagito brought in to return, as though just remembering that they were there. The pile got knocked over when they kissed, but it’s not on the floor or anything, just scattered across the counter. Hajime shook his head. “I gotta scan these, but if you’re okay waiting, I’ll walk you back to your dorm room.”

Nagito felt himself smiling, a soft, fluttery feeling in his chest. “That sounds nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how does kissing even work, honestly?
> 
> *hiragana: one of the three japanese alphabets. the one everyone knows how to read and uses for words that are japanese. generally not used for names, unless the person is extremely notable


	32. Ryoma/Kirumi, Salmon Mode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for karatechamp509-- haha remember when you made this request? i bet you don't it's been like 207 days ... but this quarantine man it's driving me nutso
> 
> anyway i am literally SO sorry i hope this is good ;w;

Kirumi wonders about it when Ryoma doesn’t show up to breakfast.

She doesn’t… worry, per se. (She doesn’t know him well enough to truly worry, and he’s missed out on breakfast in the past. It could very well be that he just decided to sleep in past the morning announcement.) But she certainly wonders. Mostly because Ryoma is an athlete-- even if he apparently doesn’t do all that much tennis anymore-- and she would’ve thought that an athlete would want to keep their metabolism as fast as possible, but also just because… well, Ryoma is a quieter person. Some people are just quiet, with no deeper reasons to be, but quiet people are difficult to read. As a maid, Kirumi prides herself on her ability to figure out what it is that people want.

As a friend, though, she has no idea what kind of person Ryoma is, and that makes her a bit upset. She makes sure to pace herself while tidying up the dining hall as people slip back out into the hallways, not wanting to do anything improperly, but her thoughts keep wandering to Ryoma. He’s an edgier kind of person. Talks about who he  _ used  _ to be, and how he doesn’t deserve to be among the rest of them. A strange complex to have on a dating show, but nonetheless. Kirumi knows on paper why Ryoma thinks that about himself, but she just can’t wrap her head around why he’s always self-isolating. It reads to her as cutting off your nose to spite your face.

If he was just… for example, an introvert, it wouldn’t be worrisome. There are people who don’t always like to have company. Kirumi herself is more… withdrawn, and not for any deeply personal reasons, but simply because she enjoys her own company more at times than she does the company of others. That isn’t to say that she doesn’t sometimes like to spend time with other people, but there are moments. She does get that impression from Ryoma. But on occasion she’s been off to the side of the group, cleaning up a spill or preparing a drink, and her gaze has wandered over to the boy, brow furrowing involuntarily.

She could be wrong. But Ryoma seems almost… wistful, at times. When he thinks other people aren’t watching.

Her Monopad tells her that Ryoma isn’t in his room, but at the Shrine of Judgement. Likely sitting by the fountain. He must have been there all through breakfast. It’s not a bad place to spend one’s time by any means. In fact if Kirumi had more spare time, she’d probably give some of her own to it. Of course, she  _ doesn’t  _ have a surplus of spare time on her hands; Tenko requested that she facilitate a fight between her and Kaito later on, keep things from getting… out of hand, so to speak. But that will be this afternoon. If she moves quickly, then she’ll probably have time to do it while still completing the rest of her other chores. This is what Kirumi tells herself as she makes her way through the courtyard, clasping her gloved hands together behind her back so that they won’t swing at her sides.

Besides, it’s a maid’s duty to check up on people, isn’t it? If Ryoma wants her to leave, she will. It will be as simple as that. She’s bound to accept any request, after all. Even a request for solitude.

She can hear the gentle trickle of the fountain as she makes her way across the stone. The grass down here is well-manicured, and it smells fresh and clean, so much unlike the earthy smell that seems to hang everywhere else at the Ultimate Academy. This would be a wonderful spot, as a matter of face, if not for that large, almost indecent statue of Monokuma. It’s quite tasteless, actually. Kirumi suppresses the urge to purse her lips at the sight of it and does a quick glance of the area, searching around for the boy that she’s seeking out.

Ryoma is quite short, but she still spots him after a while. He is seated amidst the flower beds, and the black and blue of his uniform sticks out from the pink of the flowers in a very striking way. He’s picked one, and as Kirumi watches him he is examining it, his eyes narrowed very slightly. Ryoma appears to be in his element, and Kirumi feels almost bad for coming now, for intruding on something that suddenly seems almost deeply personal. She half considers just turning around and leaving him be, but she decides that it would be rude to just walk away without announcing herself.

“Hoshi-kun,” Kirumi speaks up, and then bites her lip, watching Ryoma’s large grey eyes lifting, landing on her. His brows shift upwards but otherwise his expression remains unchanged. He doesn’t smile a lot, Kirumi’s noticed. She inclines her head slightly. “I noticed you missed breakfast,” she says, supposing that Ryoma would appreciate her getting right to the point.

“Uh-huh,” Ryoma’s manner of speaking is gruff-- but not impolite. The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile, and he raises the hand of his that isn’t currently holding a pale pink flower. “Wasn’t very hungry. Anyway, I wanted a deviation from the schedule,” he shrugs. Kirumi refrains from looking at him incredulously, thinking that if he wants to explain, he will. “You didn’t have to check up on me, though.”

“I thought it would be irresponsible of me as a maid not to,” Kirumi replies. “But if you would like to be alone, I understand.”

“As a maid, huh?” Ryoma chuckles, seemingly deigning to ignore the second part of what she said. “How about as Toujo?”

Kirumi allows a smile, if only because his chuckle is low and brassy, like a tuba, or another bass instrument. Ryoma has the kind of voice you’d hear in a radio show. He would be very good at that. “Alright, perhaps there is merit to the statement that I personally wanted to see if you’re alright,” she folds her hands in front of her now, looking down at them-- though whether in an attempt to come across as demure, or simply because she doesn’t want to meet Ryoma’s gaze, having made that confession, she doesn’t feel particularly fussed about specifying. Regardless, she hears a smile in his voice when he replies.

“That’s kind of you,” he utters. Kirumi raises her eyes again and finds that he’s looking back at his flower, his brows nudging together in the middle like there’s something in the petals that he can’t quite figure out. “Truth is, all the uniformity here… reminds me of prison,” his smile is less fond, more bitter. Kirumi bites her lip but opts to remain silent. “Getting up at the same time every day, eating food in the same room with all the same people who aren’t my family, not being able to leave… I dunno, I guess I was looking for something to break that. Which is ridiculous; you’d think prison was long in the past for me, or somethin’, the way I’m acting about it, but it’s not like I’d served my sentence when I came here.”

“As many similarities as there may be to your current situation and the one you were in in the past,” Kirumi hesitates, wondering if saying what’s on her mind is necessarily tactful. Ryoma seems unoffended, though, purely interested in what she has to say, so she continues. “These grounds are still… quite different, I would imagine, from the prison. So it is only natural that you would start to get adjusted to being out of that.”

“Right,” Ryoma chuckles again, shaking his head. “You’ve got a way with words, Toujo. That a maid thing?”

“Mm. I suppose,” she pauses. “But I would like to think that it’s a me thing as well-- if only a little bit.”

Ryoma smiles at her then, a full, natural smile that touches her eyes, and Kirumi is so taken aback by it that she has to physically restrain herself from fanning her face, knowing that her cheeks will have flushed red at the sight. Ryoma is… handsome, and she’s always thought so, but when he smiles like that he looks particularly striking. “Got any plans for the morning? I could use some company,” his voice lilts as though he’s uncertain, but Kirumi can tell that he means what he says. “Wouldn’t want to take up any of your valuable time if you’ve got none to spare, though.”

“Oh, no,” Kirumi shakes her head. “I can’t think of anything else that I would rather spend my time doing, this morning.”

The fact of the matter is, it’s not a lie. To appease her conscience, she’ll just think of this as a request; Ryoma is requesting her company. It’s a request that she doesn’t need  _ selfless devotion  _ to fulfill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna try to get through the rest of the requests so i can open these again. stay tuned!


	33. Shuichi/Mukuro, First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Grayson. not gonna lie: total rarepair. i'm super into it, though, you go with your funky shuichi rarepairs. i support u
> 
> sorry this is so late! <3

Mukuro flops backwards and buries her face in Shuichi’s navy blue duvet, inhaling the comforting smell of books and cinnamon. The flavour of cinnamon has always been too strong for her, such that she’s never really enjoyed it in food-- but now it’s a comforting, familiar smell. It reminds her of her best friend. Speaking of Shuichi, Mukuro lifts her face from the blanket temporarily and seeks him out with her eyes; he’s struggling to open the door and carry two steaming mugs of hot chocolate at the same time. The sight of him makes a smile twitch at the edges of Mukuro’s lips, but she stifles it when his grey eyes flit up to meet her own, his brows quirking.

“Need some help?” Mukuro asks, unable to keep a tint of amusement from colouring her tone. Shuichi’s cheeks turn very slightly pink, like they always do when she teases him, and a larger smile threatens to spread across her face, even as Shuichi huffs out a rejection of her offer and shakes his head. He manages to get into the room without any spillage and makes his way over, kicking off his indoor shoes and walking, barefoot, over to his desk. He puts one of the mugs down there but places the other in Mukuro’s hands. Immediately, she takes a sip, and then recoils, cringing at the burn that spreads over her tongue.

“I’m not sure what you were expecting,” Shuichi raises his eyebrows at her, a light amusement dancing in his own eyes, and Mukuro sticks her tongue out, which prompts him to laugh quietly, muffling the sound with the palm of his hand.

There was a time, before they got so close, when Mukuro would never have risked acting so childishly. She’s never been very good at banter. One of the downsides of having an older sister like Junko, who gets bored of inside jokes before they’re even established. But Shuichi is a… remarkably comfortable, quiet person. Soothing in disposition and really  _ funny  _ when you’re standing close enough to hear him mumbling under his breath. It’s something that Mukuro used to be afraid to indulge in, but that she now seeks out. Rooms feel almost vacant, without Shuichi around to make some kind of commentary.

A kind of commentary that he reserves for  _ her,  _ no less, but she doesn’t want to inflate her own ego, or anything. They spend a good deal of time with their other friends, both hers and his, but their best moments are when they’re alone together. So Mukuro really couldn’t speak to whether or not Shuichi actually has this kind of comfortable teasing with any of his other friends. She kind of selfishly hopes that he doesn’t, though. It feels special, when it’s just the two of them.

“You say that now, but you’re gonna regret it sooner or later,” Mukuro pouts, blowing on her hot chocolate this time before she sips it. The consistency is smooth and creamy. Shuichi must have put actual cream in it, or perhaps he melted marshmallows. His own mug is mug darker, likely with that rich dark chocolate stuff he likes, but Mukuro’s always had a guilty pleasure for milk chocolates. She likes the sweetness of it, the almost… clean, refreshing feeling she gets whenever she consumes sugar. Everyone always takes her to be a bittersweet kind of person. And that can be nice, sometimes. But Shuichi knows her better than that. “After all, it’s my first injury. You’re gonna go down as the idiot who injured Mukuro Ikusaba for the first time.”

“It’s a first degree burn on your tongue,” Shuichi rolls his eyes. “I don’t think it really qualifies as an injury, Muku. It’ll go away in a few hours. And  _ regardless,”  _ he continues, before she can cut in with something undignified, which-- good call, Shuichi. “I think that you’ll be the one who looks like an idiot if you spread this story around. Who knew the appraised soldier Mukuro Ikusaba was too impatient to blow on her hot chocolate before drinking it?”

“Out of left field! Mean!” Mukuro gasps, faking indignation-- but she only really does it so that Shuichi will laugh. When he does, sitting down in his desk chair, Mukuro feels herself relaxing into a smile, the warmth that appeared at the sound of his laughter lingering in her chest for the long moment that follows.

Shuichi’s manner is so familiar to her. The way he drums his fingers on the desk before flattening his hand down, the way he eases back into his chair, rolling his shoulders and letting his eyes fall half-lidded. When he relaxes like this it’s easier to see how tired he is. And of course Mukuro is no stranger to under-eye bags; she sees them on Junko all the time, whenever she gets up too early and walks in on her younger sister, caking foundation on all the problem areas in an attempt to hide her insomnia. But Shuichi’s are different, they’re lighter. Barely noticeable if you’re not looking for them specifically.

His exhaustion is in his eyes. Shuichi is a  _ good  _ detective. But the strain of his cases gets to him. And Mukuro’s seen it. There have been times where Shuichi has been so tired, mentally rather than physically, that he’s showed up at her dorm room and simply collapsed into her arms, not saying a word. (Mukuro’s brain has this inconvenient habit of reminding her of how it felt to hold him whenever she sits still for longer than a minute, but thankfully Mukuro’s experienced in the art of running away from thoughts that she doesn’t want to be having.)

Not that he lets his tiredness get the best of him, or anything. Shuichi opens his eyes fully after a while, lolling his head to the side and meeting Mukuro’s gaze. His eyes have green highlights in them. They’re the most striking in the sunlight, but in the mellow, muted shine of his desk lamp, they glow with warmth and some other emotion that Mukuro can’t quite pinpoint. She’s not good at reading people unless they have a weapon in their hands. After a long moment, Shuichi’s lips spread into another smile.

But this one is full, all eyes crinkling at the edges and little dimples on his cheeks. Mukuro hasn’t been conscious of it entirely but she’s leaned forward a bit, hot chocolate still in her hands but momentarily forgotten. Shuichi has a beauty mark on his jaw, and acne on his forehead from his hair, which gets greasy if he doesn’t use the right shampoo, and his eyelashes are so long they tangle when he blinks. Mukuro knows people who have been enamoured with those eyelashes in the past. She… kind of falls into that category, now.

Her mug makes a soft clinking sound when she puts it on the desk, but she doesn’t pay it any mind. Her attention stays on Shuichi, who is just looking at her with that familiar softness in his eyes, and they’re so close together-- maybe an inch or two. Mukuro almost can’t stand it. She wants to lean in and close the distance, feel his chapped lips pressed up against hers, trade him breath for breath.

But…

“Shuichi,” Mukuro breathes out, hoping desperately that her choice to speak doesn’t destroy the moment, that she’s not misreading this-- this tension, or whatever there is hanging in the air between them. Shuichi’s eyebrows raise, inquisitive, lazy. Familiar. Mukuro feels herself smiling despite her heart drumming up a storm within her ribcage. “Can I-- Can I kiss you?”

The question makes Shuichi’s eyes widen. He’s always been easily flustered, and the way that his cheeks redden  _ immediately  _ after she poses the question proves that this is no exception. Mukuro almost regrets speaking, but then Shuichi bites his lip and nods, his smile not fading but instead turning slightly apprehensive. An expression he wears when he’s worried that he’s not going to be good enough.

Fortunately for him, he won’t have to worry about  _ that.  _ Mukuro leans forward and cups the side of his face with one of her hands. His cheek is soft, cool against her hand. But his lips are warm, and they taste bitter, like his hot chocolate. This is a good kind of bitter. The familiar kind.

(And the addicting kind, but-- Mukuro figures that she’ll think about that one in  _ detail  _ on a later date. In fact there are many things that they’ll be talking about later. She kind of just wants to prioritise the kissing, for the moment, though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took some creative liberties. cut me some slack; i don't do a lot of french kissing.


	34. Amaguji, Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writting for birdn4t0r. you requested angst. i delivered melancholy. sorry
> 
> "kiss" okay how about a cheek kiss lakdsjfk

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Korekiyo will open his eyes and stare up at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across the speckled white until he gets a sense of what’s real and what isn’t. It’s a soothing practice, just watching shadows dance. Whether they’re the shadows of living people, peering in through his window, or ghosts, clinging on to the material world in the hopes of… something, anything, some kind of catharsis… he really couldn’t say. And the specifics don’t matter so much; knowing if it’s something undead up there doesn’t make the shadows any less interesting to watch.

But he likes to think that they’re ghosts. The ghosts of his parents, girls he knew once, the boy he was a thousand years ago (or what feels like it anyway), it doesn’t occur to him to care about. Only that they’re shadows of what once was, rather than what currently is.

Besides, there’s only  _ one  _ ghost that can harm him, to the hundreds of living people who could theoretically climb through his window and smother him in his sleep. Korekiyo likes those odds. She’s not even real, anyway. She never was.

It’s not nightmares that wake him up on these nights. Sometimes he wishes it could be. If Korekiyo was the type to dream, to have nightmares… well, that would be a fantastical thing, wouldn’t it? He would prefer that, to wake up screaming-- over hot water, over dark rooms and haunting music, over  _ apologise, apologise, apologise--  _ than to wake up in silence, troubled by emotions he can’t pinpoint, images and scents he can’t bring to mind. At least with the screaming he would have a reason to reach out a hand and find some kind of solution. It would be a hinderance then. And as much as Korekiyo has been taught never to be a hinderance, failure is as good an incentive as any to be on sleeping medication.

Nightmares, after all, are much more interesting than insomnia.

It’s the way people who self-harm feel. Not that Korekiyo can really speak to that. The times he’s dabbled in that area it’s all been for Her. The capital H, number one, singular Her. He never did it to get any specific results, except maybe to appease her. (Though that was so, so hard.) But people who run razor blades and other sorts of sharp objects up and down their arms and thighs, who wear long sleeves and pants in the sweltering heat of August, they prefer pain, the blazing heat of it, to feeling nothing at all.

Korekiyo understands that. He would perpetuate it, even, but again with that predisposition not to be an inconvenience to anybody. As much as it’s an inconvenience to himself, at times. No, he’d rather lie awake in his bed at the early hours in the morning and rely on the shadows to be his lullaby. They are the only ones who are actually comfortable being around him, nowadays. The shadows.

Tonight Korekiyo opens his eyes to the overwhelming knowledge that any notions he had of getting rest, of slumbering peaceful and uninterrupted throughout the night, well, those are all whimsical. Laughable. The kind of thing found in fairytales. Maybe a bit less dramatic than that. But suffice to say that Korekiyo feels wide awake. The kind of wide awake where he won’t  _ be  _ sleeping tonight. Or even tomorrow. Perhaps he really should look into sleeping pills. Team Danganronpa has to have those lying around somewhere.

For now he swings his legs out from under the covers and slides his feet into his slippers. The thought is that he should get a glass of water. But water from the sink in his bathroom is never cold enough, and it always tastes vaguely plastic-y, so he’s hoping that the filtered water kept in the fridge in the kitchen hasn’t run out yet. He doesn’t see why it would. Kirumi is so very diligent about all the chores around here. Almost too diligent, in a sense, but Korekiyo imagines that it’s how she copes.

Not that… he’s in the position, to be making those kinds of judgement calls. Not anymore, at least. He was never an anthropologist to begin with.

(He still puts his mask on, nonetheless. Nothing so fancy as he wore in the simulation, just a simple, white, fabric mask. Force of habit, you could call it. Frankly, Korekiyo just doesn’t feel comfortable without it. And he knows it makes other people upset, too, to see his real face. Even if they don’t say so.)

His slippers make soft padding sounds down the carpeted hallway. Korekiyo appreciates it. Some of the people who escaped the simulation alongside him, Kokichi, Maki, when they step their feet don’t make a sound. It’s as though they’re gliding through the world. Korekiyo likes the thought of being light, but the thought of going through his life without a single thing to tell him that he’s really there is almost… unbearable, to be frank. It was appealing to him once. Though whether that was actually him, or the depressed boy who signed up for the killing game once a thousand years ago, Korekiyo couldn’t really say.

He still has the memories regardless. The memories of a boy who desperately did not want to exist. It’s a strange thing to feel differently, now. Though admittedly his desires aren’t all that long-term. He just wants some validation, some proof that he’s really here, and then… and then he can be gone, he supposes. Light and airy and non-existent. It sounds awfully quiet. Peaceful, though. Perhaps he would even get to be a ghost. Anthropologist or not, Korekiyo finds the thought almost thrilling.

The kitchen isn’t empty when he arrives. Anybody else and the sight of another person would make him turn right around, but it’s Rantaro who he sees standing at the counter, mixing something in a large glass bowl with a wooden spoon, and Rantaro is one of the people who decided that his whole isolating post-killing game strategy for coping with his trauma wasn’t going to fly, so…

So Korekiyo doesn’t turn around. Rantaro’s green tea eyes flicker up to him, his eyebrows quirking, and Korekiyo manages a smile. Whether it can be seen over his mask is… something Korekiyo doesn’t have any way of knowing, but Rantaro’s lips spread passively so he supposes that’s enough.

The water pitcher is full. Kirumi comes through. Korekiyo carefully guides it to the kitchen counter and then opens a cabinet, fishing through the glasses for a mug. He likes the feeling of them in his hands, the handle on the side that makes them easier to hold. Cold water is the only kind of water Korekiyo can tolerate now and ever but it also has the unfortunate side effect of making water glasses drip with condensation. The kind of thing that would result in wet bandages and broken glass all over the kitchen floor. Yeah, no. He finds a black and white mug with a red symbol cutting through the darker shade and chooses it. It would be no pity at all if this one was to break.

“Sleepless night?” Rantaro remarks. He lifts his spoon, scrutinising it with narrowed eyes, and Korekiyo notes that he’s making something that involves batter. Stress baking, perhaps. Or perhaps he just can’t sleep. That happens to everybody, on occasion. Korekiyo hesitates, taking a long moment to pour his water.

He stays facing the counter, rather than the boy standing across from him, as he pulls down his mask, drumming his fingers on the marble surface. “That’s correct,” he says eventually. There’s nothing Rantaro can do about it, so it shouldn’t be an inconvenience to him. It doesn’t affect him in the slightest, after all. It’s just a thing. “And yourself?” The cold water is soothing going down his throat. Korekiyo pours himself another mug full.

“Nightmare,” Rantaro is so offhanded about this, Korekiyo very nearly turns around on the spot. As things are he manages to restrain himself, resting his mug on the counter and pulling up his mask before he pivots on his heel, shooting Rantaro what he hopes is a concerned look, not an incredulous one. “I’m fine, it’s business as usual, really,” he smiles, and Korekiyo knows that he can pull those out as easily as Kokichi can lies, but something from the look in his face tells him he shouldn’t ask. So he doesn’t.

“I understand,” he says instead, even though he doesn’t. Not exactly. His terrors come into play in the bath, and when he looks at his face (his full face) in the mirror. There’s a reason he bathes with the lights off. Stupid to be terrified of a person who doesn’t exist, but there he is nonetheless. “And you decided to bake because?”

“Calms me down,” Rantaro shrugs. “Y’know, my sisters and I used to--” he stops himself there, wincing, and Korekiyo feels his stomach folding in sympathy.  _ That,  _ at least, he understands. “It’s just a familiar practice, is all,” Rantaro finishes after a moment. Lamely. “Sorry. That’s kinda heavy.”

“What isn’t, nowadays?” Korekiyo means it as a joke, but Rantaro doesn’t laugh, so that’s kind of awkward. He feels strange turning back around now that he’s facing the other boy, but he’s desperately thirsty. The compromise is to drink his water without turning his back, but he’s… hesitant.

Then again, Rantaro wasn’t there to witness the breakdown he was given by Team Danganronpa, wrapped up as it was with a big red bow.

Korekiyo decides to go for it, tugging down his mask with a single finger and taking a cautious sip from his mug. For what it’s worth, Rantaro doesn’t give him any hard or uncomfortable looks. He doesn’t even avert his gaze, at least not deliberately. His lips twitch in a smile before he turns his attention back to the batter he’s stirring, his brows pushing together slightly in concentration.

“Y’know,” Rantaro begins. He stops for a moment and then continues, sounding awkward. Slightly disjointed. “You… You have a very lovely face.”

That definitely wasn’t what Korekiyo was expecting him to say, but he’s also hardly the type to get flustered. At least, not usually. This time when Korekiyo pulls up his mask it’s just to hide the way his cheeks are warming. “I… thank you, Amami-kun.” He wants to say  _ you do too  _ but when he opens his mouth again all that comes out is a soundless exhalation. As soon as his complexion is under control he pulls down his mask and finishes off his mug. “Well. I’ll be heading back to sleep,” he says, hoping Rantaro can hear his attempt at a smile through his voice. “I hope to be able to try whatever it is you’re baking in the morning.”

“Sure, I’ll look forward to your opinion,” Rantaro’s got a twinkle in his eye that’s visible until he retracts his gaze again. Korekiyo thinks the tips of his ears might be reddening.

It’s almost an impulsive thing, but as Korekiyo makes his way past, placing his mug in the sink, he pauses. Rantaro is determinedly focusing on his task. But there are other means of reciprocating a compliment aside from verbal. Before he can talk himself out of it, Korekiyo leans forward and pecks Rantaro on the cheek, just once-- it’s barely a kiss at all, really, just a ghost of a thing, but it makes his lips tingle.

He’s halfway out the door when Rantaro sputters, “Sh-Shinguji-kun?”

Korekiyo pulls his mask back up and glances over his shoulder, meeting Rantaro’s embarrassment with a smile. He tucks his hair out of his face, so that Rantaro will see he’s not the only one whose ears are blood red. “To ward off further nightmares. I hope you get some rest yourself, Amami-kun.”

He doesn’t give Rantaro time to reply. It would be too embarrassing. But when Korekiyo gets back to his room and slips under the covers, he falls asleep almost immediately.

He dreams, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry bro the hands write what they write


End file.
